To Tame A Lion
by Raaya57
Summary: Hermione Granger has returned to complete her seventh year studies at Hogwarts... four years after the War. Her reappearance sparks several questions, opportunities and challenges, the least of which involves a meddling Ministry of Magic. Can she navigate the world she left behind? More importantly, can she rekindle lost relationships? Post-War AU, rated M for later developments.
1. Chapter 1

_All right - thank you for your patience as I've taken to re-writing this particular story. I do suggest re-reading it from the beginning as I've given it a different frame and backdrop than my initial messy overtures (apparently I am not a writer who can sit down without a full outline)._

 _I_ _am_ _playing into a familiar trope in the HP fanfic verse - there are elements of a "Marriage Law" written into this, which is admittedly overdone but still amusing to me nonetheless. I've been wondering how to best write one for quite some time and an opportunity presented itself. If this no longer turns out to be your cup of tea, please pass on by._

 _I originally intended this to be a rather dark fic but it's turned out quite the opposite and I have made my peace with that - a bit of lightness seems overdue these days. Hopefully it provides a pleasant diversion._

 _Enjoy!_

 _-R_

* * *

Hermione Granger sat quietly, deftly arranging her materials before her in an exact, precise manner befitting of any Potions Master worth their classification. Long fingers set aside two golden sigils with care, her short nails painted a deep blood red as a small testament to her discipline of choice.

Carefully, those same fingers quickly affixed a leather wand holster to the inside of her right forearm before rolling down generous silk sleeves and pulling gold buttons into place with precision. She took a moment to smooth her fingers over the torn skin of her left forearm, replacing the marred flesh with a glamour before tugging the ivory fabric into place with a sure movement.

Looking into the mirror before her, she surveyed her features with a dispassionate eye.

Her once-bushy hair had long-since been tamed through a combination of time, hormones, and potions. The deep chestnut gloss was interspersed by ribbons of honey and gold… highlighted naturally from too many hours spent in the sun. Today, the typically riotous curls were pulled back into a complicated arrangement of braids, completed by a tight bun at the nape of her neck that made her features appear more severe.

Amber eyes framed by dark lashes blinked quietly and Hermione gave a small sigh, tipping her neck from side to side to release the tension building there. Clear, tanned skin and dark sweeping brows stared back at her. With care, she swept a light brush over a straight nose, and chiseled cheekbones, giving her face an added lift to ensure that _no one_ would mistake her for a simple student.

Leaning forward, she applied a dark red stain to full lips with a purposeful hand - a color that matched her nails and gave her a rather elegant, if slightly intimidating flourish.

 _First impressions are important._

Deftly pulling at the sweeping collar of her long sleeve white blouse, Hermione straightened the gold and red tie beneath it, smoothing the fabric over her chest and tucking it into the black vest that encircled her torso. Standing smoothly she waved a hand over the vanity and quickly magicked the antique table back into perfect order.

Stepping to one side neatly, her heeled boots clicked on the stone floor as she quickly gave herself a last once-over in the mirror.

It had been a difficult request to change the standard Hogwarts uniform, but after conferring with Madam Malkin and issuing one strongly worded letter to the Headmistress, Hermione had been granted a reprieve. The traditional short grey skirt and knee-high black socks upon a twenty-three year old body, particularly one as shapely as hers had been, well… not only childish, but downright inappropriate.

As she gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror of her quarters, Hermione took a deep breath and attempted to settle the butterflies in her stomach.

The long, high-waisted grey skirt she had chosen instead was elegant. Affixed with a thin black belt and rectangular gold clasp, it hugged her figure in a way that was both becoming and professional, and she appreciated the heavier fabric that allowed it to swirl around her ankles as she moved. Above her skirt, the sweeping silk fabric of her ivory blouse was tucked in neatly and further contained by a form-fitting black vest that set off the gold in her Gryffindor tie with a lovely series of gold closures beneath the bust line.

Opening a hand, Hermione summoned the gold sigils bearing the mark of her Mastery. As she opened the other, her black robes flew over from the wardrobe and quickly hung behind her, allowing her to slide her arms into the heavier fabric with ease.

Her dark lips curved up into a smile and Hermione lifted a sculpted eyebrow as she surveyed her lithe silhouette with appreciation. A thank-you note to Madam Malkin would be in order.

The robes themselves were structured slightly differently than the traditional school robes. The Hogwarts crest still sat affixed above her left breast, but the generous sleeves were slit well past the elbow, allowing the fabric to drape elegantly while leaving her hands and arms free.

 _Most important for successful brewing._

The inside of her sleeves were lined with a deep red - still a shade of Gryffindor garnet to be sure, but with a sheen of black on the opposite grain that made it appear much darker as she moved. There was no hood - such juvenile things were unnecessary when Charms existed for a reason. Just a simple, stately line across the shoulders that gave her an appearance of added height.

With great care, Hermione opened the left side of her robes and quickly pinned the sigils beneath the patch of the Hogwarts crest so that they lay flat against her chest. Only she would know they were there.

Brushing her hands along the front of her robes, Hermione cast a quick tempus. The Sorting Ceremony would begin in mere minutes.

Summoning her wand wordlessly, she slid it into its holster with a practiced hand. Casting one last cursory glance over her immaculate quarters, Hermione spun on a heel, her dark robes billowing about her in a manner that would have made Severus Snape proud.

No, she was no Princess of Gryffindor any longer.

But she was a lioness with a mission and she hoped that it would be enough.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall sighed and surveyed her reflection with pursed lips.

Her ebony hair had been tamed into its usual severe hairstyle, with a slightly different part that allowed the shiny waves to sweep across her forehead in a more aristocratic manner. It had been an off-handed recommendation from Ginevra Potter and Minerva found that she rather liked it.

With familiar precision, her nimble fingers quickly swept a bit of apricot-colored blush beneath high cheekbones, giving her an added glow that set off bright emerald eyes. Deftly, she applied a layer of rosy-mauve to her lips, pausing to ensure the sweeping bow on her top lip was achieved to perfection.

She stood swiftly, holding out a hand and receiving her hat's floating entrance with practiced ease. Ginevra and her mother had also been responsible for the newest addition to her wardrobe and again, Minerva found herself accepting the change with an unexpected amount of appreciation.

The hat was made of dark black satin with a tall sweeping point that managed to look elegant rather than stereotypically crooked and witch-like. The brim was folded slightly, creating a narrower silhouette, and it was rimmed in a shimmering onyx with a sheen of emerald and rather pleasant shade of teal. A select bunch of iridescent raven feathers completed it and Minerva felt the colors offset her usual emerald robes quite nicely.

Glancing in the mirror, she tugged at the stiff collar of said robes and smoothed the heavy fabric with a careful hand. This particular set had a geometric pattern over the silken blend and it hugged her thin figure in a flattering way. It seemed a thank-you note to Madam Malkin would be in order.

Sighing, Minerva cast a quick tempus. The Sorting was due to begin shortly and for once, Minerva felt an uncharacteristic thrum of anticipation.

As Headmistress, greeting the first-years was now a duty that fell to Filius Flitwick, her Deputy, and Minerva merely had to offer the customary greeting following the Sorting Ceremony.

Beyond that, everything else either fell to Filius or the other Heads' of Houses as the students settled in for the new school year. It was a rather pleasant shifting of duties compared with the typical added strain of being Headmistress, and over the past several years, Minerva had found herself enjoying this night more and more.

However this year marked a new beginning… or _continuation_ of events, rather… and Minerva was most curious to see how their newest returning student would weather the change.

Hermione Granger had disappeared shortly after the end of the War, to most everyone's surprise and consternation.

Including Minerva's own.

The War had concluded at the beginning of May, 1998 and the subsequent summer had seen Miss Granger and many of her friends at Hogwarts - pitching in to restore the venerable castle to working order before the start of the new term. Minerva had grown close to the young witch during that time… or so she had thought, as the two of them had spent many hours working to organize the relief efforts and the many volunteers who had shown up at the castle gates wanting to lend a helping hand.

They had spent so much time together - victory parties, funerals, complicated hours spent unraveling and re-working the castle warding… not to mention the many meals and teas taken in Minerva's office, or the deep conversations that had continued long into the night…

Throughout that summer, there had been no mention of anything amiss. Not a word nor indication of something awry, and therefore Minerva had assumed that Miss Granger would be resuming her studies along with the majority of her classmates when the new term began.

August had passed quickly and though she had wracked her brain for the past several years searching for an answer, Minerva could not pinpoint any hint as to why Miss Granger would have abandoned her education without confiding in her first.

And so, September first had arrived… and Minerva had been shocked upon gazing out over the bright sea of faces in the Great Hall and failing to see the familiar features of the young witch she had come to know so well… and whom she had quickly realized had become more to her than just another student.

A series of frantic owls had been sent to no avail… and it wasn't until Harry Potter ascended the stairs to the Head's office with a look of great guilt and a carefully sealed parchment that Minerva truly understood that the young witch would not be returning to Hogwarts.

Mr. Potter had simply given her the letter and left, everything in his countenance shouting loneliness.

Even now, her mind could recite the short note verbatim - recalling the precise script with ease and her mind echoing the words in the light voice she could not forget.

After Mr. Potter had left her office, Minerva had remained… staring blankly into the fire for hours as her mind worked to process just how precisely she had failed… failed the most promising witch of her generation, Miss- _Hermione_ Granger. But before she had been able to rectify the situation, the witch was gone.

The subsequent year had been a struggle.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had seemed to understand her inner-conflict to some extent, for they had given her a wide berth… always disappearing from sight whenever she turned a corner, and choosing to sit at the back of her class and on the opposite side of the room from where the Trio had sat together for six years. In her own private way, Minerva had been appreciative of their quiet demonstration of solidarity.

Everyone missed Hermione.

And so it was better to rearrange things around her absence.

She knew the witch was in contact with the two boys. But Minerva could not bring herself to ask after Miss Granger's whereabouts nor her wellbeing. And the boys had respected that.

She was off. She was healing. She was safe… _elsewhere_.

And that had been enough.

That year had ended. Minerva had discovered the true challenges of governing such a venerable institution, and her class of seventh-years had graduated - most of them with more Order of Merlin's than honors. Their ceremony had been one of the few during which Minerva had shed tears. They had been _her cubs_ … how small they had been as first-years. And what lions they had grown into.

To her selfish relief, Minerva had remained in contact with many from that graduating class.

Neville Longbottom had immediately returned as an Apprentice beneath the watchful eye of Pomona Sprout and had quickly cultivated a strong place for himself amongst the faculty and students alike.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had gone on to the Auror Academy and graduated with honors, though Minerva had proudly kept watch from the sidelines - joining the Weasley clan for Sunday dinner whenever her schedule allowed it.

Predictably and to everyone's collective joy, Harry Potter had married Ginevra Weasley following her graduation from Hogwarts… And while Minerva had been curious to see if the elusive Miss Granger would show for the festivities, she had not. It had been a sore point for Ron Weasley, but the newly wedded Potters had apparently taken it in stride.

And Minerva had not pressed.

Beyond her Gryffindors, Draco Malfoy had been an unexpected addition to their close-knit community. While there had been hints of friendship between the fallen boy and the Boy-Who-Lived during their final year at Hogwarts, it had not begun in earnest until Lucius Malfoy was locked away in Azkaban for good.

Remarkably, Draco had managed to slide into an easy, if somewhat complicated friendship with the Potters, close enough to warrant a weekly Tuesday evening pick-me-up in London if _The Prophet_ was to be believed; they were occasionally joined by Luna Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom, whenever their studies allowed.

It seemed that Mr. Weasley remained cordial enough, but it was clear to Minerva that there would never be a close relationship between those two.

Draco had recently joined the Hogwarts staff as an Apprentice to Horace Slughorn the previous year, and while Minerva had harbored doubts about the young man, he had proven to be rather adept at managing the first-year Potions classes and had become a remarkably unrelenting authoritarian against Slytherin rule breakers. She had made no secret of her pride in the young man's development, and was pleased to see him slowly finding his way into the extended Hogwarts community.

A few years had passed and Minerva had fallen into her new duties and schedule with ease.

At the backdrop to the usual hustle and bustle of the school were the Ministry's added efforts to rebuild the dwindling magical population. The Potters were one of the first high-profile marriages endorsed by Kingsley Shacklebolt's newly pruned Ministry, and while Minerva sincerely believed in the direction of the new government, she had kept a close eye upon the Wizengamot's rulings.

The first year following the War had been infused with rumors of a Marriage Law… a harebrained notion cooked up in the Ministry's lower offices that was meant to rectify the many losses sustained by the Magical community. Minerva had been adamantly opposed, and despite the wave of support held within the locked chambers of the Wizengamot, she was one of few who knew that the Law had barely avoided passing at the eleventh hour.

Eventually a different compromise had been reached.

The Ministry had rolled out a new series of tax incentives that rewarded new marriages and subsequent offspring. Incentives were paired with a series of subsidized healthcare packages for couples seeking fertility treatment, with the Ministry even going so far as to boost research funds to St. Mungo's, which had been working on a magical pregnancy option for men for several decades.

Predictably, the first two years of the Ministry's plan had seen a wave of marriages amongst members of the younger generation.

Minerva had received numerous wedding invitations and announcements heralding new additions to families, and she had followed the proceedings with a careful eye. However, whisperings amongst older members of the Wizengamot had grown in strength and a year previous, it had been announced that there would be new tax penalties for unmarried citizens below the age of eighty - igniting a firestorm of public opinion that seemed to run the gamut of enthusiastic approval, to quiet resignation, to her own opinion which fell into the minority - indignant outrage.

Throughout the entire debacle, a part of Minerva had missed Miss Granger's fiery perspective on the entire matter. She had always imagined that the witch would enter the field of Magical Law. There had been several public hearings in which she had almost expected the young woman to drop in from the sky - swooping in to protect individual rights and declare war on the maelstrom of outdated opinions that found little fault in penalizing young people, widowers, and academics such as herself.

But the witch did not appear, and Minerva was unsurprised when the Ministry released a wave of new document packets to explain their bizarre and circuitous web of logic surrounding the proposed system of penalties and incentives.

Varied periods of deferment and forbearance were granted to divorcees, widowers, Mastery students, a smattering of public servants, and of course, several duly elected heads of state. The penalties were confusing and absolute, and Minerva had sent a scathing letter to Kingsley for having appointed Percy Weasley as Head of the Ministry's Registry Department.

Earlier in the spring, she herself had received a Ministry notice declaring her pressing need to find a partner; Minerva had responded with a tersely-worded Howler and had heard nothing further.

At the moment, penalties were an inconvenience that she could pay. But deep down, Minerva knew that the true fight against the Wizengamot's incompetence was still building… and it would only be a matter of time before she would need to sit down and settle her affairs before she was forced into an unpleasant situation.

In contrast to the national population panic, Hogwarts had found itself with larger classes as students born in the peace after the first war began arriving in droves. The struggle to accommodate the influx of new students was taking its toll, and the most recent summer had seen Minerva busy at the castle with little opportunity for respite as she searched for more teachers to offset the considerable increase in enrollment.

And then, with no warning… a rather eccentric owl had come unexpectedly.

Minerva paused as she recalled the August morning with startling clarity. Granted, it had been little over a week and a half ago, but the curious feeling still remained.

She had looked up from her morning correspondence to find a large black owl sitting patiently on her windowsill, its feathers boasting a rather unique pattern across the wings - almost like a spattering of gold ink.

After letting the bird in, it waited quietly on the back of a chair, watching her with gold eyes as she unfurled the attached parchment.

Her heart had nearly stopped upon reading the message it contained:

 _Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,_

 _It is with great urgency that I write to you now in the fervent hope that you will consider my application and re-entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete my seventh year studies._

 _I apologize most sincerely for causing you difficulty with the late correspondence, though I admit that my decision has arrived in a moment of haste. That is not to say I have not repeatedly considered my return over the course of the last several years, though it has taken me until recently to determine that I have devoted enough time toward personal matters and I am finally ready to put my studies to rest and re-enter the Wizarding society of Great Britain._

 _I realize that my re-acceptance is predicated upon your understanding of my situation, though regretfully, I am unable to return to Scotland until August 31st. I would prefer to meet with you in person should you wish to discuss my most recent past history._

 _Please let me know what course of action would best meet with your approval._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Hermione Granger_

The reproachful stare of the owl had shaken her from her surprise, and despite the overwhelming concern and curiosity she had felt upon reading the rather formal letter… Minerva had responded with a simple reply.

She would be delighted to welcome Miss Granger back to complete her seventh year at Hogwarts and further correspondence upon that issue would be unnecessary. Enclosed was the standard reading and materials list for all seventh year courses, (assuming that Miss Granger intended to pursue her previous array of electives). She also added that the private suite typically reserved for the Head Girl would be made available to her in Gryffindor tower, along with continued access to the Prefect's bathrooms on the fifth floor.

Minerva had bit her quill near the end, wondering just how to engage with the young witch after her absence of four years. A ruffle of feathers from the owl suggested that she simply _get on with it,_ and she had been unable to prevent herself from writing a personal note at the bottom:

 _Miss Granger - While I admit that your owl has come as quite the surprise, I assure you that your return is a most welcome event; I speak for the rest of the staff by saying it will be a pleasure to see you in classes again. We await your return and expect to see you in time for the Start-of-Term Feast on Sept. 1st._

 _Warmly,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

Sending the solemn owl off with her reply, Minerva had stood by the open window for quite some time.

It was the first and only time she had ever signed off on an official document with "Warmly, Minerva McGonagall," but something in her gut had told her that perhaps the young witch needed a bit of reassurance regarding her abrupt decision.

Electing not to message Molly Weasley for information, Minerva had simply returned to her duties - a quickly muttered spell had added Miss Granger's name to the list of incoming seventh-years with little fanfare. The witch's appreciative reply had come quickly, thanking her for her consideration and the extra accommodations. The second letter had been equally formal, though Minerva had taken it in stride, simply continuing with her duties with perhaps just a bit more bounce in her step.

The following days had proved to be a bit more of a headache as Minerva had been interrupted repeatedly by staff members bursting into her chambers, excitedly pointing out the witch's name on their class rosters and fishing for information. Septima Vector had been surprisingly emotional about the news, while Filius, Pomona, and Aurora had been positively elated.

Talfryn Hawtrey, Minerva's Transfiguration replacement for the younger classes had quickly stopped by, offering to trade her seventh years for one of the younger grades if she wanted an easier time of things. Minerva had been quick to shoot down that idea, pointing out that the younger classes were _always_ the most needy and that he would simply have to find another means of getting the last of the Golden Trio into his clutches. The silver-haired wizard had guffawed loudly as he left her office pulling along an excited Neville, Hestia, and Hagrid who had trailed behind for gossip.

Minerva had been floored not twenty minutes later however, when Horace Slughorn had huffed into her office and very quickly informed her that under no circumstances would he be teaching Miss Granger _seventh-year Potions_ as the witch had already made her formal debut into the Potions Society beyond her first classifications. Minerva had stopped open-mouthed at that, staring in disbelief as the portly wizard tossed her three separate editions of the witch's recently published papers in _Ars Alchemica._ The work was under a pseudonym, yes, ("Helena Graeme" seemed like a dead giveaway)... but a quick scan through affirmed her former protégé's refined sense of speech and word choice immediately.

 _Why had she not mentioned anything? Had the witch simply planned to sit through a year's worth of essentially remedial potions classes?_

Minerva had half-listened as Horace babbled on about the witch's work, her questions only breeding more questions. Already it seemed that Horace wanted her to teach some of the younger classes and potentially assist Draco in his apprenticeship. It had been far too much to consider without the proper information and Minerva had quickly sent him away, before sitting heavily at her desk and vanishing Potions from Miss Granger's timetable.

Drawing herself back to the present, Minerva shook her head.

While Miss Granger was indeed a mystery that demanded careful unraveling, there was no use in pondering over the witch while her duties still remained. Minerva dimmed the lights in her personal suite before tucking her wand into her robes and setting off. Emerging into the Head's office, she glanced at the clock and saw that the first-years would likely be making their way into the boats by now.

Taking a deep breath, her lips quirked into a soft smile as a number of the portraits waved and saluted to her overhead. She gave an elegant nod, ignoring the more boisterous calls before closing her office door securely.

 _It is time._

* * *

 _A/N: The usual disclaimer holds - all Harry Potter characters in the verse belong to J.K. Rowling and my only profit is the enjoyment of other readers. There are a few original characters who will crop up along the way - they and their individual histories belong to me._


	2. Chapter 2

**_~~ July, 2002 - Two Months Previous ~~_**

"This is ludicrous, Kingsley… surely you must see that," Hermione declared, glaring slightly as the Minister pressed her parchment to one side, having barely given it a glance.

She was unused to being slighted so politely.

"The Wizengamot is largely held by witches and wizards of an older generation, Hermione… they are anxious to see our community rebuilt and they have little qualms about demanding an early legacy from the younger generation of survivors. As of right now there is a large movement in favor of applying even heavier penalties to all unmarried witches and wizards below the age of thirty-five. By all accounts, it appears that it will succeed."

"That should still have no bearing on how I am to live my life!" Hermione growled, leaning forward, "I fail to see what penalties have to do with rescinding the amount of time I should have to find a suitable partner!"

Kingsley continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"While a good number of young folk entered the workforce immediately following the War, over sixty percent elected to enroll in some form of higher education or specialized training - your friends included -"

" _Myself_ included," Hermione interrupted, pounding her fist on one armrest impatiently. "Just because I never sat my N.E.W.T.s doesn't devalue my entire Mastery!"

"You have had _four_ years to complete your N.E.W.T.s, Hermione," Kingsley replied archly, shifting his inkpot to the left by a few millimeters. "While I've always understood your reasoning for not having returned to Hogwarts immediately following the War, even Harry and Ron managed to complete their exams over two years ago, despite deferring in order to attend the Auror Academy's summer preparatory program. What's your excuse?"

Hermione sat back, tight-lipped and angry.

In truth, she didn't really have one.

Her first Mastery program had been a sight more than intense than she had initially anticipated, and at its conclusion she had begun teaching at a preparatory school almost immediately afterward. There had also been the matter of having learned an entirely different language, education system, and culture during those four years. It had all been rather… _complicated._

The N.E.W.T.s, in contrast, had seemed like child's play - a mindless exercise in memory recall that was to be saved for whenever she decided to return to Great Britain. Between her studies, research, and teaching requirements, there simply hadn't been extra time nor space to return home, and as a result Hermione had nearly forgotten about them.

That had remained a constant until a dreaded Ministry letter had unfolded itself two weeks prior while Hermione had been in the midst of overseeing a study period.

In a tersely worded missive, Hermione had been notified that her period of marriage forbearance was ending and that upon the first of the new year, she would be subject to a wave of new penalties for unmarried witches and wizards below the age of eighty. Penalties that even threatened her with temporary incarceration for failure to comply.

Her subsequent reaction had ignited several banners in the study hall, created a host of improbable stories throughout the academy's rumor mill, and resulted in a barrage of letters addressed to anyone and everyone that Hermione knew at the Ministry of Magic.

Not long after, she had been granted a meeting with the Minister… and though Hermione was loathe to admit it, it was not currently unfolding to her desires.

"Forgive me if I was a bit more occupied with the subtleties of my craft," Hermione retorted after a long moment of silent fuming. "Surely in my situation, the N.E.W.T.s. need only remain a formality? I hardly understand why I am wasting your time on this at all."

She had tried to subtly play the "war hero/public celebrity" card, but from Kingsley's expression, it seemed that she had failed.

The large wizard sighed and turned to face the bank of windows behind his desk, watching as a group of young Ministry workers circled the fountain in the Atrium below. Hermione followed his gaze and felt a brief stab of envy for the ease with which they appeared to joke and converse with one another.

 _If only my life were so straight-forward..._

"While the Ministry continues to support young witches and wizards in their desire to acquire specialized knowledge before entering the workforce -"

"A _prudent_ decision if we are tasked with rebuilding the next Magical generation from the ground up," Hermione mumbled under her breath, earning her a solid glare from across the desk.

"... current census predictions place us well-behind ideal figures-"

"I can't imagine that four years is sufficient time to learn much of _anything_ regarding population statistics," Hermione said in disbelief, unable to prevent herself from interrupting again. "Surely ten years should be the barest of minimums for re-evaluating any pertinent data?"

 _Who the hell runs the census anyway?_

"I agree with you," Kingsley replied tersely, folding his large hands across the desk in a clear effort to remain patient. "However you must realize that our community has diminished considerably since the end of the War. I don't expect you to understand seeing as you left so soon after the Final Battle… but it is difficult to assuage the public's concerns when there are still empty storefronts in Diagon Alley and far too many empty posts scattered throughout our workforce."

Hermione felt a brief flash of guilt at that, but swallowed it as she realized it had been a calculated dig at her life choices. The Minister was not the first to have disapproved of her decision to depart the country in the aftermath of the War, and while she could feel slightly guilty for not having participated in the country's rebuilding… she would _not_ become the nation's pariah for the sake of social convenience.

"The public needs reassurance that our Magical community has the capacity to rebuild itself, and you must also realize that a large majority of seats in the Wizengamot were in favor of redrawing plans for another Marriage Law," Kingsley looked to her beseechingly, "A great deal of debate and discussion left us with this compromise… and while I understand the inherent age-discrimination wrapped into all of this, the reaction from your peers has been reasonably positive. The majority of young folk genuinely _want_ to do their part in rebuilding the community and producing heirs to our Magical legacy."

Hermione remained silent for another long moment as she mentally cursed all of her friends.

 _Has_ _ **no one**_ _objected to this turn of events?_

"What does this have to do with my specific situation?" she asked after a long moment, pressing a hand to the bridge of her nose. "Surely a full Mastery is sufficient affirmation that I have not been 'shirking my duties' for a lack of a better term. I am engaged in a full-time course of study. I do not understand why the N.E.W.T.s are becoming such a critical detail in deciding how much time I have to find a partner."

There was a brief flash of something across Kingsley's face that looked suspiciously like guilt.

"You must realize that young public figures such as yourself are key toward turning the tide of public opinion," Kingsley began slowly. "You were granted an additional year of forbearance from marriage despite pressure because of your outstanding contributions to the war effort. As I've already informed you, the initial five-year grace period granted to young witches and wizards after they have come of age has been shortened to three… _unless_ an individual elects to pursue a full-time course of higher study."

Hermione waited with a raised eyebrow. _Such as a Mastery program?_

"Once a witch or wizard concludes their studies, they are granted a two-year grace period before finding a suitable spouse. The court is planning to meet next month, and that period will be shortened to just one year," Kingsley's calm gaze faltered for a moment and Hermione tensed, realizing they were about to arrive to the heart of her situation.

"The Wizengamot seems to believe that another high profile wedding such as the Potter's would do wonders for sparking inspiration amongst your peers. Your name arose during the proceedings and it was decided that because you never sat your N.E.W.T.s, your current… _activities_ cannot be counted as a valid form of study. They are also taking place abroad which cannot be counted as a Ministry-approved course of education. Therefore your three-year grace period _and_ your extra year of forbearance will be up at the end of December. I'm sorry, Hermione."

The air around her had become rather dry, and in her building fury, Hermione barely registered the sparks fizzling at the ends of her curls. Her blood seemed to be running both hot and cold at once, and Hermione rose slowly, unable to keep her voice free from the trembling anger as she pointed an accusatory finger toward the Minister of Magic.

"Minister Shacklebolt, am I to understand that you _sacrificed_ my freedoms in order to be the face of your… your new Ministry-approved marriage propaganda? _I'm_ to be the happy-go-lucky bride inspiring hosts of other young witches to jump on the broom and get hitched?!"

She could barely grind out the words.

Kingsley held up a placating hand.

"Miss Granger, that's hardly the term-"

"That's _Master Granger_ to you, or have you forgotten that I've been actively furthering the noble art of Potions while _convalescing_ abroad, as you all seem to have assumed!" Hermione spat, gesturing viciously as she shoved her chair back.

"You're leaving me with what? _Five months_ to find a partner?! Or I'm to be _penalized_?! What - do you really plan to lock me up if I fail?!"

"I'm sure we can arrange-"

"Was it not enough to have been part of the _lauded_ 'Golden Trio'? Was I not heralded as the 'Brightest Witch of my Age?'" Kingsley winced slightly as Hermione's voice rose in volume, " _I did my part!_ And while I am _happy_ to consider the notion of marriage amongst my future plans, my current work in education reform is taking precedence! Surely that should be a valid argument to satisfy any concerned parties?!" Hermione threw a hand to one side wildly, "Or maybe tell them that I'm working to ensure we don't go about _educating_ the world's next Voldemort?! What about that?! _Why don't you_ _ **let**_ _me be the Brightest Witch of my Age?_ "

"Master Granger, please -" Kingsley stood slowly, the warm reassuring tones abruptly chafing against her rising temper. The room seemed remarkably warm.

"Of all the ridiculous, _presumptuous_ notions to have proposed! Did you _really_ believe I'd just acquiesce like that? Like some simpering heroine _happy_ to give her life over to the community which _turned its backs on Muggleborns?!_ Do you remember _that_ , Kingsley?!"

Kingsley's eye twitched in the barest of winces as he held up a beseeching hand.

"Hermione-"

"And how _dare_ you not recognize my Mastery! Whose idea was that?! How about you have the Wizengamot check the most recent editions of _Ars Alchemica_ or the ICW's recent addendum to international pharmacopoeia _?! How about I file an official complaint with the Potions Society?!"_

" _Hermione-"_

Kingsley's protests were lost to her tirade as Hermione began pacing in front of the Minister's desk.

"It's only been _four_ years since the War! How _dare_ you believe that I'd be ready to give up my career and simply settle down and _get married!_ I finally have a life! I finally have a purpose and you just want me to-"

Her anger blossomed into fury as her words were abruptly cut off by a wordless charm, and Hermione glared daggers across the desk as the Minister leaned forward and pressed a single finger upon the burnished mahogany wood between them.

"Master Granger, you will hear me out or I shall have you removed by force."

It appeared that Kingsley's patience had finally snapped, and his dark eyes were cold as they glared across the desk at each other.

A wave of unbridled frustration pulsed through her and Hermione did little to prevent the burst of magical energy from rattling the windowpanes as it shot from her body and slammed into the four walls of the office in a wave of roiling light.

To his credit, Kingsley barely flinched as he waved his wand to protect a number of more delicate items around the room… a host of whirring devices on his bookshelves lighting up as her magic crackled audibly. A small part of Hermione purred in satisfaction at the hearing the muffled shrieks from the Atrium below.

 _Serves them right. Sheep - all of them are sheep!_

Her huff of indignation was lost to the _Silencio_ , and Kingsley simply waited for her to finish with her outburst before leaning to one side and pinching out the remains of a long feather quill that had been reduced to embers.

Hermione stood trembling… her cheeks hot and her curls likely a wild mess about her face as she clenched both fists.

"Are you done?" the Minister asked dryly.

Feeling remarkably petulant, Hermione crossed her arms and glowered for a long moment before taking her seat again slowly, electing to look past the Minister and through the glittering windows. The noon sunshine seemed to mock her by streaming through the Atrium's skylights cheerfully.

 _Where's your legendary patience now?_

Her Master would not have approved.

Though she could have easily managed the counterspell, Hermione waited with a haughty tilt of her chin for Kingsley to return her voice with a rather guilty flick of his wand.

"We are both caught between a rock and a hard place, as it were," Kingsley sighed, his brow smoothing slightly as he swiveled in his chair to follow her gaze toward the busy chamber below. Despite her outburst, everyone seemed to have returned to their duties and Hermione felt another flash of frustration as she realized that she was all alone in her feelings.

 _Just pull yourself together… you are a grown witch!_

"I never imagined our community would be thrust into the position that it's currently in, but the War happened… our situation is what it is, and I empathize with you, Hermione," Kingsley continued, his tone pensive.

"I, myself, have been under considerable pressure to take a wife, but I am also running out of excuses. I've been reluctant to marry simply out of obligation to our community... I grew up in with a Muggle mother, Hermione, and I still believe in marrying for love just as much as I believe you do. "

Hermione waited, feeling her ire give way slightly as she absorbed the Minister's quiet words. It was not often that she was able to acknowledge the cultural differences between Muggle and Wizarding societies with her Magical friends without feeling some form of conflict or shame.

She hadn't known Kingsley Shacklebolt's own history and part of Hermione immediately wanted to ask several questions. However she held her tongue. Likely the Minister's words were part of yet another calculated move to get her to 'see reason,' and Hermione chose to remain silent… irritated as she felt her empathy blossom in response anyway.

From her perspective, marriage within the Wizarding world continued to be colored by archaic traditions that perpetuated concerns regarding blood status, political alliances, and even preserving intellectual property. It didn't surprise her that the general population had willingly acquiesced to the Wizengamot's overwrought concerns about population decline - marriage was still largely viewed as a social contract, while producing heirs was simply an expected byproduct.

In contrast, marriage in the Muggle world seemed to center more upon the needs and desires of individuals - holding _love_ as the central component toward deciding a shared future.

Privately, Hermione had always leaned closer to the beliefs of her heritage… though she had learned over time to keep such idealistic opinions to herself.

 _Appealing to your Muggle upbringing to build sympathy - now there's a first._

Hermione sniffed softly and opened her mouth to reply, but was caught off guard by Kingsley's next question.

"I will do my best to protect you from public scrutiny, Hermione. However, I must ask… is there truly no one here with whom you could see a potential future?"

Whatever argument had been on the tip of her tongue quickly dissolved, and Hermione found herself without a clear reply. Unbidden, a host of vivid images and memories sprang into her mind - thick with simmering emotion that she had long since tried to bury with distance and time.

 _Fuck._

The subsequent pause gave away far more of her true thoughts and feelings than she had been willing to divulge and Hermione glared as the Minister quietly folded up her parchment and tucked it back into its crisp envelope, a soft smile playing around his features as he turned to face her directly.

"Give yourself the rest of this year, Hermione," Kingsley said softly, pushing her parchment across the desk with a gentle hand. "If there is truly no one in our Wizarding community who catches your eye, I will gladly sign your renunciation of citizenship without complaint."

 _He called your bluff… and now you have to face your new reality._

"In the meantime, I suggest you begin readjusting to life at home by notifying the Ministry's Office of Education as to how you intend to rectify your delinquent N.E.W.T status. The moment you complete your exams, you will earn back another year of forbearance before incurring the standard penalties applied to unmarried persons… unless you elect to enroll in a program of higher-education recognized by this Ministry or simply find yourself a suitable partner."

Hermione didn't fail to register the quiet emphasis on "this Ministry," and the first tendrils of despair began to wind themselves through her chest as she truly began to realize that she would not be returning to her new life anytime soon.

"I understand, Minister," Hermione replied evenly, tipping a cold smile as she finally looked the taller wizard in the eyes.

 _This isn't over, Kingsley..._

She watched with detached satisfaction as the Minister blinked quietly, a thin veneer of emotion passing through his eyes before he leaned forward and placed a large hand upon the desk between them.

"Hermione… I want to personally apologize for placing you into this difficult situation, however unlike others, I genuinely believe there is a silver lining waiting for you amidst all of this mess. Perhaps these circumstances will provide you with opportunities that would have otherwise remained unexplored."

The opaque statement barely registered as Hermione allowed herself a small sigh, her gaze quietly absorbing the tired wizard sitting before her as her frustration continued to sizzle indiscriminately.

A fine smattering of lines dotted Kingsley's dark brow and there was a hunched over look to the Minister's shoulders that spoke of prolonged tension and exhaustion. The well-trimmed goatee _did_ look rather dashing, in her opinion… but beneath the tailored robes and elegant kofia, the telltale signs of stress and loneliness seemed to hang like a tangible aura.

Hermione watched the wizard for a long moment and tried not to let herself fall into the trap of her own empathy as she realized that the War and his new position had aged Kingsley far more than she had realized.

 _We're both pawns in this game..._

"Politics," she murmured bitterly, breaking her gaze and letting it drift toward the sunlit windows again.

"Politics," Kingsley agreed sadly, rising to come around the desk as Hermione tucked her unsigned application away and pressed her chair back. She rose smoothly, feeling the comfortable weight of her summer robes settle in around her ankles.

It was already mid-July and she suddenly felt acutely aware of the passing of time.

 _Either you become a permanent fugitive from the Ministry or you return to Britain and settle in for a life you don't desire… all because the Wizarding community needs another 'happily ever after'..._

Nothing had gone according to her plan and she needed to return home and regroup before deciding upon her next move.

Hermione blinked and turned, realizing that Kingsley was speaking to her as he ushered her toward the door.

"- isn't what you imagined. But unless you've lost that Gryffindor fire somewhere in the desert, I imagine you still have the potential to surprise even _her._ "

Hermione felt a flash of panic.

"I-I - what? I don't know what you're talking about," she replied quickly, feeling a hot flush creep up her neck as she rearranged her outer robes with a deft hand. Even though her voice had remained steady, Hermione inwardly cringed at how defensive her response had sounded.

Predictably, her response caused Kingsley to chuckle softly as he leaned back and cracked his neck before fixing her with a twinkling gaze.

"Give an old Ravenclaw a bit more credit than that," he said softly, hiding a smile beneath a heavy hand as he held the door open and his voice dropped into a low whisper.

"Of all the witches in Great Britain, you could do far worse than Minerva McGonagall."

Crossing the threshold, Hermione once again found herself speechless. Turning, she managed to catch a glimpse of her own wide-eyed expression reflected in Kingsley's amused gaze.

 _How did he - ?_

"Good luck, Hermione."

The Minister's door closed in her face, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though it was the proverbial nail in her coffin.


	3. Chapter 3

Minerva descended from the Headmaster's tower quietly, her enhanced hearing already picking up the telltale swell of noise from the Great Hall below. A familiar thrum of anticipation flickered in the pit of her stomach at the thought of so many eager minds waiting to be filled. Whatever students thought of their professors, Minerva knew that her colleagues all felt similarly - no one was immune to return-of-the-term jitters, not even teachers.

Smiling lightly to herself, she elected to take the back way, pleased as the castle staircases quickly rerouted themselves to her wishes.

A few moments later Minerva found herself at the rear doors to the Great Hall, heart already swelling with emotion as she made to enter unobtrusively.

Stepping into the brightly lit chamber, Minerva's eyes rested upon her colleagues who sat at the High Table calmly, already watching over the undulating sea of black robes whose voices were raised in excitement.

Neville and Draco sat with their heads close together, likely making some sort of wager that she didn't want to know about. At the opposite end of the table Poppy and Rolanda were engaged in something similar, and Minerva felt her lips purse in displeasure even as Pomona caught her eye and gave her a wink.

Minerva glided into the High Chair quietly, emerald eyes already scanning the sea of faces, feeling a hint of satisfaction at seeing a number of the younger faces notice her and whisper amongst themselves in a combination of fear and awe.

"First years are about five-minutes out… Filius just sent word," Pomona muttered quietly, giving her a small nudge.

Minerva nodded absently, attempting to look around the Hall surreptitiously. She noted the Sorting Hat shifting subtly on the bench even as her gaze traveled past it over toward _her_ table, where amongst the shifting robes were spots of gold and red.

Her brow furrowed a moment later, but before she could comment upon the conspicuous absence of their returning student, the Great Hall doors opened with a subtle creak and Hermione Granger emerged… Looking like…

 _A goddess,_ her mind quickly supplied, and Minerva fought to keep her features impassive.

The witch's entrance had been subtle enough - by the end of one's third year, most students had figured out how to open the heavy doors to the Great Hall unobtrusively.

However, as the witch made her way down the long aisle between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, the whispers began and soon the entire room was craning to watch as Miss Granger gracefully walked the entire length of the room to sit nearest to the High Table. She kept her head held high, responding to curious onlookers with a gaze so direct and impassive, Minerva saw a number of students shrink back in surprise.

Despite herself, Minerva was unable to prevent her eyes from raking over the undeniably lovely and _womanly_ vision before her. Briefly, she was glad at having authorized the last minute changes to the witch's uniform as the formal look suited her perfectly. The lithe, yet clearly voluptuous figure was tastefully concealed beneath a long skirt, vest, and blouse that made Miss Granger appear like the academic edition of some sort of runway model.

Dark hair was highlighted in shades of gold and pulled away from her face in a rather severe style that only accentuated her high cheekbones and sweeping brows. The witch's full lips were stained a dark red and Minerva realized with a start that while her former student was recognizable, she was clearly a grown woman and a very _attractive_ one at that.

There was a _change_ to her physicality as well. Minerva's eyes narrowed - the witch glided with a nearly feline grace, her dark robes billowing mysteriously before she slid into place with ease, barely sparing a glance at the shocked faces of her fellow Housemates as she somehow managed to make sitting at a bench look regal.

Briefly, Minerva felt a pang of sympathy for the witch's inherent status as an outsider… they had never had to deal with a returning student of her age. But that feeling dissolved a moment later as Miss Granger shifted her focus to the High Table, her gaze slowly shifting from one professor to the next as she gave each of them a slight smile and nod of acknowledgment. It was, again, the action of a confident woman… not the insecure glance of a girl seeking reassurance.

 _Where had this witch come from?_

Minerva felt her breath hitch as the weight of that gaze began growing closer and closer to the High Chair. Pomona waved next to her and then… abruptly, she was skipped over as Miss Granger continued down the table - her eyes crinkling into a small smile as Septima blew her a light kiss.

She tried not to feel slighted. Nor irritated when Rolanda blew the witch a kiss too and Miss Granger's shoulders visibly shook as she chuckled attractively.

A moment later, the entire Hall's attention shifted as the doors opened with a resonant clang to reveal the trembling cluster of new first-years fresh off the boats and shivering with anticipation as Hagrid called out a loud greeting.

Predictably, Minerva felt her heart soften slightly as the group of nervous round faces followed Filius toward the center of the room, shuffling their feet as big eyes gazed around the room looking like a bunch of lost owlets. She fought not to glance over toward her Gryffindors... intent upon greeting the newest students with the attention they deserved.

Miss Granger would have to wait.

Unfortunately, her best intentions were thwarted and Minerva suddenly realized she had barely heard the Hat's song before the Sorting began in earnest. Her thoughts were decidedly _preoccupied._

She clapped politely with the entire room as the group of first years began growing smaller and smaller.

Distantly, Minerva kept one ear open to the side conversations at the High Table - Draco and Neville had a good natured bet going regarding the final tallies of Gryffindor and Slytherin's newest recruits, while Poppy and Rolanda were betting something similar between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. And speaking of…

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouted enthusiastically as another wave of applause rose from the left side of the Hall.

This time Minerva watched as the little witch - Emmalie Merritt, hopped off the stool and ran toward her new Housemates who were waving her over with open arms. The girl paused, smiling shyly before sliding in across from Miss Granger who reached across the table and patted the younger witch's arm encouragingly, resulting in a huge grin.

The Sorting continued, passing through the R's, S's and T's before Minerva chanced another glance over toward Gryffindor.

With surprise, she noted a small clump of first-years surrounding Miss Granger, apparently hanging on her every word as she explained something with elegant and refined gestures. The witch's back was toward Minerva, but it was clear that Miss Granger was commanding both respect and perhaps a few burgeoning crushes as the first girl, Emmalie leaned forward with a mischievous expression and said something that made the older witch laugh. Minerva just caught the delightful sound and it caused a shiver through her body that had nothing to do with the cool air.

A wave of applause resonated through the Hall, echoing between stone walls and with a start Minerva realized the Sorting was finished. _Merlin, stay focused, Min!_

Filius waved the stool and Hat away as Minerva rose smoothly, gazing toward the back of the Hall as everyone shifted to give her their attention.

"Good evening ladies and gentleman… before we begin our feast, I should like to take a moment to welcome the newest incoming students to our hallowed halls." She paused, her emerald gaze raking over many of the youngest faces in the crowd who looked back at her with big eyes.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has long been an institution whose reputation has garnered respect and admiration. The Houses into which you have just been Sorted will now become your home for the next seven years and I implore you to turn to each other for help, guidance, and most importantly, friendship."

Over at Gryffindor table, a number of the older boys were clapping each other on their backs as they smiled at each other with familiar camaraderie. Minerva lifted an eyebrow.

"Let us not forget, however… that we are beings capable of unimaginable growth. While your House may draw forth your confidence, your intelligence, your sense of community, or sense of self, I encourage everyone in this Hall to consider what may be learned from your fellow peers beyond the House colors. We are all far more similar than we realize."

The Hall grew quiet and Minerva could see a number of the older students mulling over her words as others looked around the room in a bit of confusion. The small Gryffindor girl, Miss Merritt craned to look around Miss Granger to the other tables across the hall.

Deciding the seed was planted, she gestured at the tables and they immediately filled with a beautiful spread of sumptuous dishes. There were a few gasps and Minerva's lips curled into a gentle smile.

"Without further ado, let us enjoy."

* * *

Hermione ate her meal quietly, smiling softly as she listened to the excited chatter of the group of first-years that had surrounded her unexpectedly.

There were six of them at the moment - bubbling over with joy as they talked about Quidditch. _What else would it be?_

She had dropped out of the conversation for the moment, instead surreptitiously glancing along the rest of her table where a number of pairs of eyes quickly averted their gaze.

Sitting at the long Gryffindor table without Harry and Ron by her side felt surreal… as though she had been plucked from the desert and placed into a theatrical production about someone else's life.

Her new robes were comfortable but far heavier than she was used to, and while the sights and smells were drawing forth overlapping waves of nostalgia, Hermione couldn't help but feel terribly… well, out of place.

 _Kingsley forced you into this decision, but now you have to live with it,_ she thought ruefully, spearing a buttery slice of sweet potato.

Re-enrolling at Hogwarts had been a calculated dig at the Minister's tampering and the look upon his face when she had declared her decision had been worth the many hours of fighting her way upwards through the many offices of the Ministry's Registry Department. It seemed that Kingsley had forgotten one thing about Gryffindor bravado - it was nothing if not bold.

Truthfully however, Hermione had been so caught up in finding a satisfying means of civil disobedience that she had forgotten that she would actually have to live with the consequences of her decision.

It was preposterous, really - a witch of her age and education status going back to complete her missed seventh year at Hogwarts? She could have sat her N.E.W.T.s blindfolded and passed with flying colors, but then... that was the entire point.

Her own Master had been appalled when Hermione had announced her decision over formal Friday dinner, but later laughed herself silly when Hermione had broken down her reasoning.

There was no way that the Ministry would endorse her decision, but at the moment they could do nothing to prevent it. By definition, she would be engaged in a course of full-time study which would render her exempt from the ridiculous penalties being applied to unmarried persons. For the moment, her choice had also guaranteed her a bit of peace and privacy - Hermione knew that Kingsley would keep her return to Britain away from the press as best he could lest she open her mouth to publicly protest the Ministry's decisions.

She would also gain another year of forbearance after she sat her N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year… giving her added time to finish out her Mastery thesis from afar (as of yet, the Ministry had no jurisdiction on Society matters), search for loopholes in the new referendums being passed by the Wizengamot, and attempt to establish a solid plan of resisting the absurd limitations being placed upon her individual freedoms.

Glancing up to the High Table, Hermione felt a brief pang of guilt at realizing that her plan would place the Headmistress and the other Hogwarts professors in the middle of a complicated political situation, but she hoped that they would see her decision in a positive light.

That had never been her intention, but then... everything had unfolded rather quickly.

 _Peaceful protest_ , she thought, taking another demure bite of vegetables _. At least for the next year until you either find a way to take on the Ministry, begin another Mastery… or find yourself a partner._

The last thought was both terrifying and thrilling.

Hermione had scarcely given voice to the first sketches of a secondary plan forming in the darker recesses of her thoughts. There were so many unknowns... and part of her chafed against the Ministry's meddling, since it would mean giving into their entire system of marriage-laced propaganda.

There were far too many things to rationalize.

 _Besides, you haven't even spoken to her yet…_ whispered a quiet voice in the back of her mind.

Sighing to herself, Hermione returned her attention to the meal and attempted to shuttle away all concerns regarding impossible relationships and organized anarchy until later when she could journal in the privacy of her own rooms.

 _Just stick to the original plan... however it unfolds, you have the potential for success._

Hermione's brow furrowed as another deliberate bite of her dinner revealed a separate, smaller problem.

Hogwarts food was so heavy and rich - she had forgotten. Either she would have to train differently or… _perhaps it would be possible to pay a visit to the House Elves?_

Sighing softly, she idly considered her options.

"Miss Granger?" A light voice broke through her thoughts. Hermione turned slightly, fixing the young witch across from her with a half-smile.

"I'm not faculty, Emmalie. Please call me Hermione," she chided gently, folding her napkin to one side before giving the girl her undivided attention.

 _At least the students feel familiar..._

The young witch squirmed under her scrutiny, dark cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she smiled shyly.

"H-Hermione? Could you tell us a bit about…" Emmalie trailed off as the girl next to her, _Luz… her name is Luz_ , leaned over causing both girls to giggle. Hermione waited.

"Could you tell us about Headmistress McGonagall?"

"The Headmistress?" Hermione sat back slightly as both girls blushed, quickly grabbing each others' arm and giggling. Had she somehow given away her private thoughts? She had been expecting the name "Harry Potter" or "Ron Weasley" to fall from their lips, or perhaps a question about the War...

But Minerva McGonagall?

Her genuine surprise must have registered because both girls looked at each other wistfully, slightly embarrassed.

"Well, she's just so… beautiful," Luz said softly, her dark eyes drifting over Hermione's shoulder in the direction of the High Table.

Hermione shook her head slightly and smiled. _Oh, if only you girls knew._

"Yes… that she is," she murmured softly, resisting the urge to follow the girls' dreamy gaze.

Unexpectedly, Kingsley's voice popped back into her mind.

' _I imagine you still have the potential to surprise even_ _ **her**_ …'

Shaking her head, Hermione pushed her plate away and folded her arms on the table, electing to pin both girls with a conspiratorial look as she smoothed away her many questions and concerns about the future.

 _Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan..._

"So what is it you want to know?"


	4. Chapter 4

Minerva ate her meal without truly tasting it.

All around her, conversation flowed easily and it seemed that despite the overwhelming load of paperwork that would be gracing everyone's desks by the end of the week, her colleagues were content to enjoy the moment.

While her sharp gaze continually surveyed the Great Hall like clockwork, Minerva found herself unable to resist passing over the first few seats of the Gryffindor table carefully. As her eyes alighted upon the elegant figure sitting near the front of the table, she noticed that Miss Granger was speaking quietly to two young first-years who were staring directly back at Minerva with matching expressions of awe.

Just as she was about to narrow her eyes in suspicion, Filius' light tones cut through her thoughts.

"You should go speak with her, Minerva."

"Pardon?"

"Miss Granger. You should speak with her."

Filius was staring at her with an open and accepting gaze, his blue eyes conveying a hint of sympathy. Internally, Minerva chided herself at being so transparent and she took a moment to sit back and dab her lips lightly with a napkin.

"I am certain that Miss Granger will come to me should she need to discuss her unique situation," she replied diplomatically, lifting her chin as she raked her eyes over the Slytherin side of the room.

"That's not what I mean, my dear. You seem… preoccupied. Whatever your shared history, I am sure both of you would benefit from a long discussion," Filius answered, brows slightly furrowed in concern as he gazed over toward Gryffindor. Minerva's eyes followed. The witch was still leaning forward and speaking with the two young girls who appeared to be hanging on her every word with rapt expressions.

"How do you mean?" Minerva asked carefully.

"Minerva, you've hardly touched your meal." Filius gestured toward her plate which was indeed quite full. She felt her lips thin, but before she could think of an appropriate reply, her friend leaned forward.

"Meanwhile, neither has Miss Granger. She's been distracting herself from looking up here by speaking with that group of first-years. Don't think I missed how you two haven't yet acknowledged each other." His blue eyes twinkled slightly as he sat back, turning his gaze out over the hall.

"Speak with her, my dear. I have a feeling you both need the reminder before you can rekindle your unique relationship," he said airily before turning to the other side, "Pomona dear, would you be so kind as to pass the Brussels sprouts?"

Turning back to her meal, which at once seemed unappetizing, Minerva fought not to flush at Filius' words.

 _What an odd comment._

Had it been anyone but Filius, Minerva would have been hard-pressed not to hex them for such cheek.

 _Just what did he mean by that?_

She considered demanding an explanation, but realized that it would only underscore his point.

Sighing instead, she waved a hand to vanish her plate and looked out amongst the rows of tables.

While there had been a number of students who had caught her eye over the years, none of them had ever held a candle to the witch she was now steadfastly ignoring over in the left corner of her vision.

The Weasley twins had been two of her secret favorites… over at Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, she could already see the shady transactions of the school's newest jokesters, who were also rising on her list of students-to-watch.

There was Miss David of Ravenclaw who showed remarkable prowess in Defense for being a fourth-year, Mr. Creevey of Gryffindor, who despite his brother's death had grown into a lovely lad himself… Miss Everard and Rawlins of Hufflepuff who were never seen apart… Mr. Railaha of Slytherin who was quickly modeling himself after Professor Malfoy…

Many bright minds and faces.

All unique and charming in their own individual ways.

But then there had been Miss Granger.

 _Hermione._

Minerva had never allowed the witch to be anything but "Miss Granger" except within the privacy of her own mind.

No, this witch had been far different.

Minerva had kept an eye on the Trio throughout their first several years, but as they grew older… suddenly she had begun to see them as individuals. Young adults faced with terrors far beyond their scope and yet, they had conducted themselves with such self-assuredness and dignity…

The Trio had effortlessly planted themselves into the hearts of many, yes. Minerva included.

But unlike the general Wizarding population of Great Britain, she saw them as distinct people.

Harry Potter. Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger.

The boys had quickly grown into brave, intelligent, and honorable young men.

 _And the witch…_

Minerva allowed herself a reprieve and turned her gaze to finally stare at the witch in question directly.

Miss Granger was sitting sideways on the bench, speaking in quiet tones to a young wizard to her immediate left who appeared somewhat distraught.

Long hands rested on small shoulders and Minerva watched in fascination as blood red lips appeared to deliver words of wisdom as the boy nodded along, still somewhat tearful. A smile graced those full lips and the boy responded with a tentative one of his own before laughing suddenly and wiping his eyes as the rest of the group chipped in with encouragement of their own.

Miss Granger smiled at them appreciatively, her amber eyes betraying her approval as dessert appeared and the children jumped forward with gusto. The witch snapped her fingers lightly and the group subsided slightly, returning to their chosen delicacies with a bit more restraint and matching mollified expressions. Minerva sniffed quietly in amusement.

 _A lioness with her cubs…_ she thought with a light burst of surprise.

Hermione Granger had changed significantly. That much was obvious.

A niggle of worry shot through her chest and Minerva sat back, content to let her gaze roam again even as her thoughts remained troubled.

 _Would they ever regain what had been lost?_

* * *

Hermione waited calmly, schooling her features into those of a respectful listener as Headmistress McGonagall rose at the High Table and the Great Hall began to quiet. The first-years around her mirrored her example and she hid a smile.

Carefully, Hermione allowed herself the opportunity to subtly trace the features of her former mentor… at once taking in the tall and slender frame, tastefully swathed in customary robes of luminous emerald. Long sleeves dripped off elegant arms, and Hermione's eyes took in the graceful hands that skimmed the top of the table as the witch waited for complete silence.

The barest hint of a smile graced darkened lips and as Hermione watched, the butterflies in her stomach reasserted themselves with a vengeance. _Time has indeed been kind to this witch._

"I do hope you have enjoyed your meal. Before I dismiss everyone for a good night's rest, I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

The familiar Scottish brogue felt like a balm to her ears and Hermione felt herself lean forward slightly.

"First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is expressly forbidden to all pupils unless accompanied by a faculty member as part of your courses. It is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason; if it were allowed, it would be called the Permitted Forest," the piercing gaze zeroed in on an area over by Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, "A few upperclassmen would do to remember this note as well."

There were a few titters and Hermione surmised there must have been a new group of pranksters on the rise. She sniffed lightly.

"Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors, and that _all_ products by Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes are banned from school grounds." Hermione smirked at that even as a number of others at her table chuckled quietly to themselves. It seemed that George's new partner was continuing the twins' legacy with aplomb.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch for further information."

Again, Hermione smirked as the grey-haired witch in question tipped a lazy salute that the Headmistress pointedly ignored. While she had never been close to the flying instructor, Hermione had learned to appreciate the witch's swift tongue during the summer following the War. She had also borne witness to several spats with the illustrious Headmistress which proved the two witches were nearly evenly matched in their acerbic wit.

"We are also pleased to welcome two members of our staff into the ranks of tenured faculty. Many of you know Professor Talfryn Hawtrey, who will continue serving his post within the Transfiguration curriculum. Hestia Jones will also be continuing her position within Defense Against the Dark Arts. Both of these distinguished professors have made significant contributions to their respective disciplines - I encourage you to remain open-minded and absorb as much from them as possible."

There was a round of enthusiastic applause as the witch and wizard in question waved cheerfully. Hermione smiled as she recognized Hestia… and made a note to investigate the other professor she didn't recognize. _Hawtrey_ … the name was familiar. Distantly, Hermione thought she recalled the name from a spring edition of _Transfiguration Today._

"I also mention the return of two of our noted Apprentices; I expect that you will continue to treat Professors Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy with the deference and respect befitting of any of our faculty members, as they themselves continue to inspire us with their advances in Herbology and Potions."

Hermione's gaze alighted on Draco Malfoy who, while retaining a bit of the haughty air she remembered from school, appeared to be gazing at the Headmistress in an expression of genuine appreciation. Her eyes narrowed slightly. _Interesting_.

Ginny had already encouraged her to befriend her once-nemesis… however, until she learned a bit more about the man, Hermione decided to remain cautious. Undoubtedly, they would be interacting more often as they now shared the same discipline. _I've learned a thing or two about serpents..._ she thought quietly.

Realizing that her focus had slid off slightly, Hermione looked up and found that the Headmistress had paused in her speech. The candlelight gleamed and framed the woman's high cheekbones and ivory skin in a halo of gold. Somehow it made aristocratic features appear softer.

"It is my great hope that this next year of studies will bloom with magic befitting of your presence here. There is much to discover and much to learn and I implore you all to treat the opportunity with the respect it deserves."

The witch paused and Hermione tensed slightly as sharp emerald eyes fluttered in her direction without actually meeting her gaze.

"It is also my hope… that you will seek assistance along the way should you need it. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

Unexpectedly, the familiar phrase echoed through Hermione's memories and she felt her heart clench at all it continued to represent. _You need to speak with her…_

The moment passed and the Headmistress looked across the room with a rare smile that made her features seem more luminous and enchanting. Behind her, Hermione heard Emmalie and Luz sigh.

"I bid you a good evening."

The Hall erupted in a loud round of applause before the chatter began to resume. Benches scraped against the stone floor and there was an enormous rustling of fabric as everyone stood and prefects began calling out for their first-years.

"Hermione, are you coming?"

Turning, Hermione smiled down at Sam Watanabe, the young boy who had quietly confided his insecurity at being sorted into Gryffindor. He smiled up at her with just a hint of shyness as the rest of her cubs looked on curiously. _Her cubs?_ Where had that thought come from?

"Follow the prefects, Sam. I have a few things to attend to before curfew," she replied warmly, already feeling a flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

He gave her a lopsided smile before scampering off, and Hermione straightened, ignoring the curious glances that she was receiving from a number of others as they filed out of the room.

Looking up toward the High Table, she saw that the Headmistress had disappeared. _Damn._

Scanning the room quickly, Hermione frowned… and then froze as Professor Flitwick pinned her with a meaningful gaze and gave an emphatic point toward the back doors that the professors typically used. _Ah._

Giving him a gracious nod, she quickly set off.

Some things would not do to wait.

* * *

Minerva ascended the staircase slowly, deep in thought even as she bid the sconces on the wall to remain dimly lit.

Shrouded in shadow, she listened as the students made their way toward the Common Rooms… infusing the castle with life in a familiar way that warmed her heart.

Sighing, she reached the top of a staircase and looked down… small figures in black robes dashed to and fro, laughing even as she heard a stern voice call out a reprimand. _Good_. At least one of her prefects was off to a good start.

A number of the portraits watched the excitement from above alongside her… muttering comments amongst themselves, and despite her heavy thoughts, Minerva allowed a slight smile to grace her features as she watched the unfolding chaos quietly.

"The first night back was always my favorite too," a light voice remarked quietly.

Turning in surprise, Minerva bit back a harsh retort at realizing just who stood off to her left, one arm folded delicately over the stone railing as timeless features gazed down toward the lower floors, her lovely face lit from below.

"Miss Granger," she managed. "It is a pleasure to see you gracing the halls once more."

She was proud for having phrased her words evenly, despite the whirling of emotions and questions that suddenly tumbled through her mind. _Why did you leave without telling me? Where have you been? Why come back? Why now?_

The witch straightened, her luminous features folding inward slightly even as she continued to watch the last of the stragglers hurry up the staircases. Minerva suddenly realized that the bright and open features from the young witch she remembered had been replaced with a much more guarded and mysterious woman. _Where did you go?_

A moment later, Minerva stiffened as the witch moved closer… a hair short of invading her personal space, though she didn't miss how the young woman had yet to meet her eyes. The amber gaze hovered somewhere between her chin and beyond her right ear, and unlike confrontations with other students… Minerva found herself feeling a bit bereft by the lack of eye contact.

"Please… may we talk?"

It took a moment for the quiet plea to register before Minerva nodded.

"Certainly. Let us adjourn to my office," she replied evenly, even as her stomach fluttered lightly with anticipation.

They moved in sync… boots echoing similarly on stone floors as they ascended another staircase and glided down darkened halls.

To her relief and simultaneous dismay, they did not speak.

Miss Granger held herself back by half a step, remaining close to Minerva but just off her right shoulder ensuring that her expression remained inscrutable. Bizarrely, Minerva was reminded of her years as an Apprentice and having followed Mistress Trenowyth with the same sort of deliberate deference.

Arriving to the Gargoyle, Minerva paused for Miss Granger's benefit and stated the password clearly.

 _"Amat victoria curam."_

They settled upon the stone steps and Minerva fought to keep her focus straight ahead as they began moving upwards. She heard Miss Granger shift a step below, but decided against saying anything until they arrived. This was not a meeting to fulfill her requests.

As soon as they stepped into her familiar quarters, Minerva waved a hand and lit the candles before pointing her wand at the fire and muttering a quick _Incendio_. The flames leapt from the hearth and she took a moment to unpin her hat and send it flying back toward the stand in one corner.

The light had awoken a few of the portraits who rubbed their eyes sleepily… a few already glancing off her left shoulder, curious at the arrival of a new visitor.

"Would you care for tea?" Minerva asked lightly, unbuttoning her robes slightly and allowing the outer layer to remain open for comfort. Internally, she steeled herself for what was doubtless to be a strange and awkward conversation. _This is not about you._

At the lack of response, Minerva turned with a frown and saw Miss Granger standing before the fire, bathed in its rich glow, eyes downcast and staring into the flames absently. She appeared not to have heard.

"Miss Granger?"

The slightly louder query seemed to rouse the witch from her musings and Minerva waited.

Arms, which had been crossed over the young woman's chest, slowly unfurled as she turned over one shoulder gracefully… her lithe figure a dark silhouette against the bright flames. Minerva's brows drew together slightly as she absorbed the abruptly insecure witch before her - at contrast with the bright, confident woman who had made such a grand entrance into the Great Hall just a short while ago.

Her breath stopped a moment later as wide amber eyes suddenly bore into Minerva's own. Eyes that revealed a tempest of pent-up emotions and sheen of guilt so earnest that she nearly stepped back.

"I'm sorry…" The breathy plea resonated in her chest and Minerva stood spellbound, unable to reply as those luminous eyes grew bright with unshed tears.

"Please… Minerva, I am _so sorry_ ," the witch repeated, her voice thick, even as she startled Minerva with her use of her given name. Before she could reply, Miss Granger was walking toward her, beautiful features crumpling even as two bright streaks of silver made their way down her cheeks.

"Forgive me? _Please, gods_ … forgive me!"

And then… Minerva was abruptly rocking back as Miss Granger's slender form quickly moulded itself to her own, strong arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close as the witch sobbed into the front of her robes. Automatically, she enveloped the young woman even as tears sprang to her own eyes and a lump appeared in her throat. _But… what?_

Soft braids pressed into her neck and her nose was greeted by the sweet and luscious blend of argan, pomegranate, and another form of sweetness that Minerva couldn't quite name.

"P-please forgive me! I c-couldn't tell you… I w-waanted to… d-didn't want - to - disappoint... Gods, s-so selfish! I'm - s-so sorry, M-min-erva…" The wrenching words were muffled slightly and interspersed with sobs as the witch continued to cry, clutching Minerva like a lifeline as if fearing her retribution.

"Shhh, darling…" Long fingers stroked the smooth sheen of hair, rubbing the witch's back as she would have comforted a child. The sobs only seemed to increase and Minerva felt slender fingers gripping the front of her robes.

"Oh, Hermione…" she breathed with a smile. "You could never disappoint me…"

Hoping it wouldn't be misinterpreted, Minerva pressed a kiss to the top of the witch's head, cursing herself even as a few tears spilled over her own cheeks.

They stood like that for an undetermined amount of time. Miss Granger continued to murmur quiet apologies even as Minerva continued stroking her hair, holding her close, murmuring her own reassurances. The fire crackled in the background and time seemed to hold still as both witches took comfort in the other.

Eventually, the torrent of emotion subsided and Minerva felt a shift…

Long arms pulled her even closer for a brief moment as the witch pressed her cheek against Minerva's chest with a small sigh.

Then, at once, she was gone and Minerva let her arms fall, feeling uncharacteristically off-balance as Miss Granger took a step back. They smiled at each other uncertainly before Minerva managed to recover first.

"Tea?"

The lovely, tear-kissed face before her split into a genuine smile and the witch nodded shyly to Minerva's secret delight.

It was a start.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione woke slowly, eyes opening and taking in her unfamiliar surroundings with methodical patience as her mind began incorporating the visual information around her.

Blue light from high windows behind her bed filtered in on a diagonal angle, bathing the tidy space in a cool glow. Hermione sat up carefully, feeling a dull pulse at her temples and a heaviness spread throughout her limbs.

Holding out a hand, she waited… and a dark purple bottle zoomed over quietly and slid into her palm with easy familiarity. Squinting at it for a moment, Hermione popped the cork and sniffed it out of habit before knocking it back in a smooth motion as she would a shot of Arak.

The potion's familiar tingle began to spread throughout her system and a moment later, she inhaled and felt herself brighten in earnest.

Flicking her fingers, the silvery glow of a tempus appeared before her. _5:04._

Hermione paused another moment on the edge of her bed, bare feet dangling in the cool air, as she waited for the surreal mix of confusion, happiness, and apprehension to pass through her.

She was at Hogwarts. She had done it - she was actually _here_.

Amber eyes once again scanned the room and took in the many tells that served to reassure that she was indeed awake and not dreaming. Crimson hangings surrounded her bed, edged in thin gold brocade that spoke to her House loyalty. The same colors surrounded the wall of windows on the far side of the curved room, and the well-worn stone floor was covered in a rich carpet that was clearly intended to keep out the biting cold of the Scottish weather.

She smiled.

Her room smelled of woodsmoke, parchment, and a faint sweetness that might have been vanilla. There was also an underlying spice and warmth to the smell that was specific to Gryffindor Tower, and a pervasive age beneath everything that belied the entire castle's venerable history.

Her school books were stacked neatly on the desk beneath the windows, titles betraying the array of classes ahead of her. A thrill of anticipation flooded through her stomach and despite her fatigue and trepidation regarding the day ahead, Hermione's lips again curved into a smile.

She shook her head slightly, mussed curls falling across one cheek as she allowed herself a moment of giddy excitement and joy at having returned to Hogwarts.

 _You're home._

The thought was quick and brief and Hermione was surprised by the wave of emotion that suddenly coursed through her. Despite the pressure and uncertainty that had brought her back to Great Britain, her feelings about Hogwarts were genuine and honest. In many ways... despite the new life that she had built for herself abroad, the castle would _always_ remain her home.

A moment later she sighed softly, eyes falling upon a tall cherry wood bookshelf that housed all of her _other_ books and materials. While Hermione was not ashamed of the past four years, (on the contrary - they had healed her in a completely unexpected and exhilarating manner), seeing evidence of that time juxtaposed to the neat and tidy surroundings of the castle reminded her how very challenging her transition would be.

Sniffing wryly to herself, Hermione skimmed through her memories of the day previous and recalled the interesting development of that particular shelf.

While there were those who doubted the intelligence and sentience of Hogwarts itself, Hermione was not among them.

She had arrived to the castle the previous afternoon, much later than anticipated, though still well before the Hogwarts Express had been due to arrive.

Professor Flitwick had met her at the gates, welcoming her with a warm hug and subtle twinkle in his eye before showing her to her rooms. If Flitwick had been curious as to her lack of belongings, he had made no mention. The small wizard had quickly explained that the Head Girl rooms possessed a second password which she could change if she wished, before reminding her that the schedule of Start-of-Term Feast and Sorting Ceremony would begin promptly at seven.

As if she could forget.

To Hermione's surprise and delight, she soon discovered that she had been given the entire top floor of Gryffindor Tower all to herself. While the Headmistress had indicated the rooms were to be saved for her, Hermione hadn't imagined them to be quite so large and luxurious. She had experienced a brief moment of disbelief and awe at their opulence… having become used to residing in rather simple, humble quarters with little need for luxury.

As soon as the Professor had departed, Hermione had reached into her small leather satchel and begun unfurling the rather complicated set of organizational charms within that soon had her school supplies, wardrobe, personal items, and books flying about the space at dizzying speeds. The Undetectable Extension Charm she had utilized throughout her final years in Great Britain still served her needs, however Hermione had learned a great deal _more_ since that time that had improved upon her ability to conceal a large amount of materials in a small space. In this instance, she had undoubtedly put those skills to good use.

A brief jaunt into the large personal bath had been enough time for some adjustments upon the castle's part, and Hermione had been surprised to return to her main room and discover that one blank wall to the left of tall windows had transformed itself into a large cherry bookshelf to contain her small personal library, ingredients stores, and even a small selection of books dedicated to Magical Law.

Hogwarts had seemed to understand and approve of her need for discretion… for Hermione had quickly discovered that the wall could be charmed into secrecy - returning to a blank wall covered by a lovely tapestry if she simply waved a hand.

The discovery had quickly brought a smile to her face and Hermione had whispered a fervent "thank you" to the empty room, hoping that Hogwarts understood the true depth of her gratitude.

Its perceived acceptance of her past experiences and rather unorthodox plan meant a great deal, and it had been reassuring to know that at least _someone_ was on her side regarding the Ministry's new propaganda-laced initiative. It promised to be an uphill battle, but the small token of Hogwarts' esteem had given her the necessary drive to get through those first few disconcerting hours.

As she had readjusted to her surroundings and settled into her new quarters, Hermione had been pleased to have avoided running into the Headmistress. While she had been anxious to reconnect with the witch, she had wanted it to be on _her_ terms... with enough time to make an accurate assessment of the woman's reaction to her return.

At the reminder of the Headmistress herself, Hermione's thoughts wandered through the memories of the previous night, smiling distantly as she thought of the enigmatic witch in question.

Her heart had leapt upon entering the Great Hall (perfectly late, as she had intended)... and after having made the impression she had desired, Hermione had been rather pleased with her show of restraint; finally allowing her gaze to settle on Minerva McGonagall shortly after the Sorting Ceremony had started in earnest.

Her eyes had traced the unforgettable and timeless features with care and discretion... taking note of the subtle changes to the witch's style that managed to further her formidable mystique and draw attention to her beauty. The woman's unflappable posture and expression remained the same - difficult to read, reserved, and effortlessly poised, though Hermione had imagined that perhaps her carefully spun entrance had thrown the witch's control slightly, in the structured manner she had intended.

She wanted the witch to recognize the simple fact that she both _was_ and _was not_ the same young woman who had departed Great Britain without so much as a good-bye. Her strategy of sending a letter with Harry had been cowardly, she knew... and while Hermione desperately hoped the Headmistress would be amenable to her protest against the Ministry, she also desperately hoped that she hadn't erased her opportunity to reconnect with the witch on a deeper level.

Hermione kicked the edge of her bed lightly as her thoughts turned to the end of the previous evening. All of her careful planning had evaporated in those first few moments in the Headmistress' office. There was a brief pulse of embarrassment as she quickly recalled her reaction to the Headmistress's - _Minerva's_ \- stolid and reassuring presence at the end of the evening. She gave a mirthless chuckle, one hand fluttering up to pinch the bridge of her nose before quickly tucking her embarrassment away.

 _Nothing to be done_ , Hermione thought tiredly. Her reaction had been honest and she hoped the witch had understood her wave of emotion, to some degree... even if there had been little more elaboration upon her part.

The rest of their evening discussion had been smoother, and Hermione had managed to reign in the unexpected spiral of guilt and worry in order to carry on in a much more subdued manner. They had talked until the hour grew late and Minerva had walked her back to her rooms in an unhurried manner that felt nice - as though they had somehow managed to reconnect and pick up where they had left off.

The majority of their time had been spent talking about neutral topics - Hogwarts, of course, and mutual friends (Minerva had seemed surprised to learn how well-informed she had remained despite her absence); politics and a recently passed Ministry referendum in the realm of educational policy, though Hermione had consistently steered the conversation away from the Ministry's current agenda and any topics that would have revealed her precarious situation.

She had been pleased to discover that the Headmistress seemed to be just as incensed by the Wizengamot's rulings, however briefly they had touched upon matters... and Hermione harbored a thin burst of hope that perhaps her plan would come to fruition. She had also been bolstered by the notable lack of a wedding band. While she admittedly didn't know a great deal about the witch's past history, she knew enough to surmise that perhaps she wasn't the only one holding out against the Wizengamot.

There had been no talk of her decision to leave Great Britain, nor much concerning her new life and whereabouts in the last four years. Minerva had been careful not to press and Hermione had answered many things in a roundabout way - providing answers without divulging details.

While part of her felt guilty for prolonging the mystery for the witch, Hermione had an agenda… and in order for it to work, she wanted her actions to speak louder than her words.

Besides... there were a number of things she still needed to unravel about those first few moments. While Hermione had surprised herself with her rather forceful reaction, she had been even more surprised by Minerva's swift and instinctual response. _Like the way that she kissed you…_

Frowning at herself, Hermione sighed, deliberately setting aside the butterflies that fluttered at memory of being held by those warm, elegant arms.

 _You're reading into things too much…_ she admonished herself. _This thing must take its course._

Rising swiftly, Hermione shivered briefly while crossing the plush Persian carpet floor to peer out the windows.

A sheen of dew twinkled on the grounds far below and the first brightening of the sky indicated a clear, cloudless morning.

 _A good morning for a run_ , she thought with a hint of reticence. Despite the Brightening Potion she had just taken, Hermione still felt her body protest the time difference and she pulled a hand through her hair with a sigh.

Unexpectedly, the Headmistress' password from the previous night sprang unbidden into her thoughts. _Amat victoria curam._

"Victory loves diligence," she whispered.

Suddenly feeling more inspired, Hermione turned away from the window and set off for her private bath.

It was the first day of classes, and the day was still ripe for seizing.

* * *

Minerva sat at her desk, eyes carefully reading through the castle's maintenance reports when abruptly the flames in the hearth turned green and a moment later, the rich blue robes of her Deputy came striding through.

"Well, how did it go?" her colleague asked brightly, his blue eyes betraying a mischievous twinkle.

Minerva blinked.

"Pardon?"

Filius swept to one side of her desk, resting a hip against its oak wood to look up at her with a small smile.

"Your meeting with Miss Granger last night," he stated, in a tone indicating that the topic should have been obvious. "How did it go?"

Minerva's eyes narrowed.

"I seem to recall having expressly indicated my desire for an early evening before departing the Great Hall," she replied calmly, even as her thoughts warmed at the memory of Hermi - _Miss Granger's_ presence.

Surprisingly, Filius rolled his eyes.

"Oh codswallop, Minerva. You've been dancing around her as a subject since we learned of her return. It's clear that she still values your opinion highly and that she's searching to reconnect with you. The rest of us are merely hoping that we can survive our classes with her," he said swiftly, crossing his arms.

Minerva frowned.

"How do you mean?"

"Minerva, it is _clear_ that the young witch has returned a changed woman. One does not just _obtain_ a Mastery in Potions without picking up relevant information along the way. This year is going to be _more_ than a breeze for her. I scarcely understand why she's decided to take her seventh year classes at all. Why not just test her N.E.W.T.s and be done with it?" Filius said, his shoulders giving a disbelieving shrug.

Minerva remained silent, unwilling to discuss Miss Granger's unexpected appearance without further information. _Undoubtedly_ _Miss Granger has her reasoning..._ _for now, she is simply a student intent on fulfilling her education._

A moment later however, her friend's eyes softened and he gave her a beseeching look.

"If anyone will manage to unravel her mysteries, it's going to be you," he said softly.

Deciding that she had heard enough on the subject, Minerva sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Classes hadn't even started and already her professors were despairing. This didn't bode well for general morale.

"I have seen little to indicate that Miss Granger has returned simply to waste everyone's time. I have no doubt she will conduct herself with the respect and decorum befitting of any intelligent witch, however should you or any of your colleagues find difficulty with her, do not hesitate to notify me. I do believe that everyone is overreacting," she said with a huff, her lips thinning in a manner that would close the conversation.

"Very well, Minerva. However do not be surprised if the witch turns out to demand more of your time than you anticipate," Filius said mysteriously, giving her a cheeky smile. Unable to help it, Minerva rolled her eyes.

"Don't you have things to do?" she asked exasperatedly.

"Indeed I do. Deputy things." Filius replied cheerfully. "Away I go…"

The small wizard was already turning and heading toward the fireplace with a swirl of blue fabric, his bobbing gait even more chipper than usual. Minerva sniffed and moved to turn back to her reports, still shaking her head at her colleague's meddling words. _Of all the ridiculous things.._.

She was adjusting her spectacles when Filius' bright tones rang out again.

"I s'pose I should let you know that one of the upperclassmen left the castle rather early this morning. Around five thirty to be precise," her Deputy called, one hand already charming the Floo powder to lower itself from the fireplace mantle.

"Five thirty? Whatever for?" Minerva asked, surprised. While the castle doors unlocked themselves at five and it wasn't expressly forbidden, it seemed a rather strange hour to go for a walk before the first day of classes. _Odd._

"She went for a rather long run, I believe," Filius replied evenly, watching as the Floo container floated back up to the hearth. "And then a swim in the lake."

"What?! But it must be freezing!"

"Well, some people enjoy that sort of thing, you know." Filius responded good-naturedly, giving a her a small shrug.

"Who was it?" Minerva asked suspiciously, watching even as the flames turned a brilliant green. Filius looked over his shoulder before stepping into them.

"Who do you think?" he replied with a smile.

A moment later, he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite her morning training and subsequent ablutions, Hermione was pleased to arrive to the Great Hall rather early.

The long tables were scattered with a few students, most of whom seemed half-asleep at best.

In contrast, Hermione felt calm and alert.

The lake had been shockingly cold as she had expected, however despite the initial discomfort as she had lowered herself into the water with a few choice swear words, Hermione had been surprised by how much she had enjoyed the invigorating experience.

Unlike the warm waters at home, the lake had been smooth, dark and wild. She had briefly been concerned that her laps would disturb the Giant Squid, but there had been no movement - not even a ripple to disturb her experience. It had been like moving through a liquid mirror.

Briefly, Hermione felt herself frown at the slip-up. _This is your home_ , she thought firmly, even as her eyes scanned the Hall and sought a place to sit.

In the privacy of her own rooms, her path had seemed so clear. But stepping into the Great Hall amongst unfamiliar faces… some young enough to be her students, Hermione felt a flash of discomfort.

"G-good morning, Miss Granger!"

Abruptly Hermione stopped short. Her attention zeroed in on a small girl to her left, her eyes immediately taking in the bright yellow trim on the robes, carefully braided pigtails, and wide-eyed expression. The girl seemed to have shocked herself.

"Hello," she replied, surprised at being addressed. "Please, my name is Hermione. And you are?"

"Fiona Oliver," came the squeaky reply.

"A pleasure to meet you," Hermione replied swiftly, holding out a hand. The young witch's grip was feather light and Hermione found herself smiling.

"I do not mean to insult, but can I infer that you are a first-year?" she asked gently, moving backwards to sit carefully on the opposite Gryffindor bench. The girl gave her a large grin at realizing that Hermione intended to chat, swiveling her legs around so that they dangled off the bench slightly.

"Yes! I'm _ever_ so excited! I've been counting down the days for the last month and half! I'm from London, you see. And my parents… they're um, not…" At once the bright expression turned a bit skittish and Hermione felt her heart go out to the girl.

"Your parents are Muggles?" Hermione asked helpfully. The small mouth clamped shut and Fiona nodded.

"Mine too," Hermione whispered conspiratorially. At once the brilliant grin was back and she could see the relief shining in the girl's eyes. Her heart ached.

"I remember being in your position. Terribly excited but also completely lost… I felt like there was so much of this new world that I didn't understand," Hermione said conversationally, turning slightly to grab a piece of toast. Fiona was watching her with big eyes.

"That's… exactly it. I feel like… like I'll never catch up," she whispered, her eyes suddenly despairing. Hermione reached out and put a hand on the girl's knee.

"Listen to me, Fiona. You are about to enter the world of magic and it is as delightful, terrifying, and inspiring as you currently imagine it to be. _And more_ …" she began, giving a soft smile. "Yes, you have a lot to learn and there will be times when you'll feel overwhelmed and confused. But trust that your Muggle childhood is only going to make the experience more thrilling for you. You will see parts of this world that magical children will never understand and that is truly a gift. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise and _never_ be ashamed of where you come from."

Perhaps it was a bit much, but Hermione felt a fierce sort of pride as she spoke to the small Hufflepuff before her. There had been no one there to guide her in those first terrifying and challenging months at Hogwarts; if she could improve this small witch's experience by even a _fraction_ … it would be worth it.

"And if you need anything at any point, never hesitate to ask me," Hermione added seriously.

Fiona stared back at her for a long moment before her lips quirked into a happy smile and she nodded emphatically. She patted the girl's knee and smiled before nibbling her toast carefully.

"I've read about you, you know," Fiona whispered… and Hermione felt her thoughts turn back to her very first moments with Harry and Ron on the Hogwarts Express.

How much she thought she knew from books and how much she had left to find out...

"Only the good parts are true," Hermione replied after a moment, giving the girl a conspiratorial wink.

Fiona giggled slightly and rolled her eyes.

"Hi Hermione!" Another small voice sounded behind her and Hermione caught a flash of dark skin and red trim.

"Good morning, Emmalie," Hermione replied, craning around to see her small friend from the night previous leaning across the table with a wide smile. The girl's dark hair had been braided rather elaborately, the ends of which were boasting crimson and gold beads.

"I see you're already a lioness at heart," Hermione said with lifted eyebrows, nodding to the beads. Emmalie's dark cheeks flushed a bit and she nodded with a small giggle.

"Couldn't help myself," she replied.

Hermione moved back slightly to gesture toward Fiona who had been watching their interaction quietly.

"Here, I want to introduce you to someone. Emmalie Merritt of Gryffindor, this is Fiona Oliver of Hufflepuff."

"Hey!"

"Hi."

The two young witches smiled at each other shyly as Hermione moved and patted the bench beside her. Fiona gave her a wide-eyed look before slowly rising and coming to sit next to her on the Gryffindor bench, looking around nervously as if Helga herself was about to come down and pluck her away.

"So," Hermione continued as if she hadn't just purposefully upended the sovereignty of the House system. "Fiona is from London… I don't think I ever heard where you are from, Emmalie."

With that, the three of them launched into conversation that continued even as more sleepy figures in black robes began filtering into the Hall slowly. They received a few strange looks from some of the older students, but a few stern glances from Hermione barred any interference.

The group of first-years who had surrounded her the night before returned, greeting her excitedly and plying her with a number of questions. Everyone immediately accepted Fiona at the table without question and Hermione was pleased to see her strike up an easy conversation with Emmalie and Luz.

"Miss Granger?" A deep breathy voice behind her startled Hermione from her breakfast. The first-years around her were frozen, and she turned to absorb a rather intimidating array of colorful scarves and shawls draped around a thin, feminine form.

"Professor Trelawney, good morning," Hermione replied evenly, quickly rising to greet her Head of House. The witch in question moved back slightly as if unsure of what to make of her.

"Ahem, yes… er, good morning. Here is your timetable. Please see to the note at the bottom, mmhmm?" The Professor handed her a parchment rather quickly before moving on, calling out other last names as she moved down the table.

"Thank you, Professor," she replied absently, already taking in the schedule and the hastily written note.

 _I see my work has preceded me._

"Everything okay, Hermione?" Emmalie was looking up at her with a concerned expression and Hermione realized she was frowning.

"Fine," she replied breezily. The other first-years were looking up at her a bit apprehensively.

"Now... what do you all have first?" she asked with a smile.

The chatter at the table intensified and Hermione settled in to answer another round of questions with a smile.

* * *

Hermione strode purposefully toward the dungeons, her long grey skirt swishing pleasantly as she walked.

After having given the first-years careful directions toward the Transfiguration wing, she had set off - happy that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff would be sharing their first class together. Fiona seemed to be getting along with her cubs quite well… and she hoped that the fledgling friendship would continue.

Though it hadn't necessarily been on her agenda, Hermione realized that she felt strongly about doing more to dissolve the long-standing competition and rift between Houses. The magical world relied so heavily upon boundaries between people within its culture and yet… no one seemed to realize how damaging those rules and taboos could be. If she could encourage the younger generations to see past their House colors, well... Hermione was sure that there would be long-lasting benefits.

Turning a corner swiftly, her heeled boots echoed upon the stone floors and she arrived to the Potions classroom to see the heavy door ajar. Knocking carefully, Hermione stepped inside.

At once her eyes fell upon the tailored black robes of the one wizard she truly thought she would never encounter again.

"Granger," Draco Malfoy's familiar voice resounded through the empty classroom and Hermione was surprised to hear the relatively even tone. She had expected one of derision.

"Mr. Malfoy," she replied formally, dipping into a small curtsy. _He_ _ **is**_ _an Apprentice, after all._

Draco seemed surprised by the gesture, the ghost of a frown passing over his face. He paused in his work - he appeared to be dividing lacewings into petri dishes.

"Was there something you needed?" he asked, coming around the front desk warily. He seemed unsure of what to make of her presence.

"I received a note on my timetable indicating I was to meet Professor Slughorn here before classes," she replied. A brief expression of confusion crossed his features, but before he could reply, another voice chimed in.

"Well, well, well…" Horace Slughorn appeared at the threshold, his eyes twinkling slightly as he moved into the classroom, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"So good of you to join us, Master Granger. And here Minerva had me worried that you would be taking seventh-year Potions. I told her it was preposterous!" He boomed, looking rather smug.

With almost comedic drama, Draco's expression slowly shifted from confusion, to surprise and then finally to horror as he glanced between the two of them in shock.

A moment later, Hermione was pleased to when the tall blonde wizard moved forward, coming around the desk and bending into a formal bow, one hand at his chest before both moved forward in a familiar gesture.

"My apologies, Master," he said swiftly.

Hermione moved forward and took his hands in hers. Kissing his fingers once, she stepped back.

"You were unaware, Mr. Malfoy. There is no harm done," she said smoothly, giving him the ghost of a smile. He nodded once, eyes seemingly unsure of where to look. _This is surreal, isn't it?_

"Professor, I imagine you have called me here to discuss… an alternative arrangement?" Hermione asked carefully, glancing toward the timepiece on the front desk. She still had twenty minutes before Arithmancy.

"Indeed." Professor Slughorn pinned her with a rather shrewd look.

"If you would follow me, perhaps this is a conversation best held in private," he said, gesturing toward the doorway to the right.

"Very well."

A moment later Hermione found herself sitting in a rather lovely office. Though she had only ever visited Snape in his office once, the clean, brightly lit room bore little resemblance to the one from her memories. It seemed Slughorn valued simplicity and order in his work-related life in a way that did not translate to the luxurious and overwrought quarters she recalled from that horrid Christmas party.

"Master Granger… I _do_ hope you will forgive my presumption for having notified Minerva of your Mastery status," the portly wizard seemed genuinely apologetic and Hermione nodded. It was of little consequence.

"However, I've read your research… It seemed a remarkable waste to have a witch of your caliber sit through an entire year of essentially remedial classes? I couldn't _bear_ the thought of such dishonor!"

While he did seem apologetic, Hermione felt that there was a distinct offer about to come her way. She smirked inwardly.

"Well, it would have been an easy 'O'," Hermione replied honestly, giving the wizard across from her a half-smile. Professor Slughorn blinked once. And then a moment later he was roaring with laughter, his large mustache quivering in mirth.

"Ah well… I can't argue that point," he managed, still wiping his eyes.

Hermione waited, face firmly etched into a pleasant expression as Slughorn abruptly sobered.

"Well, now… have you given any thought to teaching?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"I mean… that is to say, a witch of your prowess could easily continue pursuing your own research interests. However, I thought that if the opportunity presented itself, you may be interested in engaging with scholars at a… higher level, let's say?" He fiddled with a trinket on one corner of his desk and Hermione knew that she had the upper hand.

"Actually, Professor. I have," she replied succinctly. _Let him make his offer first._

"Ah, you have? Well - splendid! I mean… while I am sure your interests are largely academic and in the realm of Mastery work, have you given any thought to teaching at the secondary level perhaps?"

"I have," Hermione replied again, refusing to elaborate.

Slughorn's face fell slightly as he realized she was going to make him spell out his desires plainly. She fought not to sniff. Likely he thought she would jump at the opportunity. Which technically, she planned to… though he didn't need to know that.

 _No, no, no…_ _ **anticipation**_ _is half the game._

The wizard across from her sobered and sat forward, both arms coming to rest on the desk before him in a small, but clear gesture of deference.

"Master Granger, I would _ever_ be so appreciative if you would possibly consider taking on a few of the Hogwarts classes. With the increasing number of students, I find I am simply unable to manage the workload alongside Draco's Mastery curriculum. I requested that the school hire an additional master at the end of last year, but Minerva was unsuccessful," a pudgy hand stroked the mustache absently, "I read your paper which advocated for the earlier addition of Potions to magical elementary education curricula, and from the diligence of your notes, I hazarded a guess that you must have been engaging in a significant amount of teaching in your absence."

"A few well-placed calls confirmed my hypothesis… though I admit that the Jerusalem Preparatory Academy came as surprise," Slughorn explained, his exaggerated features betraying the truth of his words.

Hermione had to work to conceal her own surprise.

 _He_ _ **has**_ _done his research._

"Perhaps there is a way to find an agreement that can suit us both?" Slughorn finished, looking hopeful.

"Let us dispense with the formalities for a moment," Hermione said, sitting back slightly and allowing her elbows to rest upon the chair. Slughorn seemed surprised but gave a rather blustering nod while gesturing for her to continue.

Her brow furrowed for a moment as she considered her words.

Unknowingly, the wizard had given her the exact offer she had desired from the outset, though he had hastened it a manner she hadn't foreseen. Her initial plan had been much more deliberate and slow-paced, though she wasn't opposed to spinning his proposal into one that could potentially strengthen her position against the Ministry.

Her time away from Great Britain had established her current aspiration - one that she was loathe to give up simply for the sake of a state-mandated marriage and family. _Someday_ , Hermione knew that she wanted children… but first came the ability to continue effecting change through teaching.

Her own Mastery had gifted her with skills and a rather unique perspective that were slightly at odds with the Hogwarts curriculum, but one she felt could make a significant impact upon young minds in a way that would be both empowering and life-changing.

Unexpectedly, Slughorn had practically handed her the keys to unlocking that opportunity.

All she had to do was spin it the right way. _Plans within plans..._

"I would be happy to teach some of classes in the Hogwarts curriculum, provided that the Headmistress and Board of Governors provide their approval. I will not have my academic integrity questioned for the sake of taking work off of your hands, and I want it to be _understood_ by all parties that my current studies and hypothetical teaching responsibilities are to be held as distinctly separate entities. I would also insist that Professor Malfoy continue to shadow me in an advisory capacity as it seems my schedule is already rather full," she said swiftly, pleased when Slughorn nodded quickly.

Before he could comment she held up a delicate hand.

"Now, for the implied matter of instructing Apprentice Malfoy… I have to wonder why you are intent upon pawning off the wizard on me? Surely it does not serve to ingratiate you into the Society," she said willing her eyes to bore into the wizard's with a bit of intensity. This matter had come as a surprise.

"Master Granger, let me be frank," the wizard set, his features suddenly relaxing into a tired, neutral expression. Distantly, Hermione found herself wondering just how old Slughorn was.

"Please."

"Quite simply, my dear… I am getting old. Overseeing a Mastery is challenging work as you are very well aware, and while Draco has been doing a marvelous job of his studies, I frankly no longer have the energy nor the passion that I once did. Regretfully, this is a personal matter that has made itself clear over the last year and at the moment there are no available Masters to whom I'd feel comfortable releasing him," Slughorn said, his voice heavy.

"What makes you think that I would be a good fit for your Apprentice? Surely you remember that we held little affection for one another while in school," Hermione replied curiously. The wizard sniffed lightly, a fat hand coming up to twist his mustache absently.

"Indeed, I recall it well. However… I've come to know the boy well in the last year. He is much changed, my dear, though I know you haven't been around to see it. He's had a tough run since the end of the war, I'll tell you that much. Tough run, indeed... But the boy is _smart_ … disciplined, quick-witted. He's remarkably intuitive that belies just how much he listened to Severus growing up," Slughorn paused, his gaze falling past Hermione toward the door leading back toward the classroom.

"He deserves someone who will instruct him _well_ and who will treat him with respect and care. Draco won't stand for half-measures. Indeed, he's relentless in his desire for knowledge and for understanding the history behind all our rules. He holds me accountable and expects me to do the same of him. He's a remarkable wizard… and, despite your differences, you strike me as a witch who might be able to give him what he needs."

Hermione was surprised by the genuine note of care she heard in Slughorn's voice and also surprised to discover that she found herself believing him.

"Have you discussed this option with Draco?" Hermione asked softly. _Merlin, are you considering this? Are you_ _ **actually**_ _considering this? As if you don't have enough to do!_

"Not yet. Pending approval from Minerva and the Board, I would hope to allow the two of you to reacquaint yourselves as colleagues first before presenting the idea to him. I've made no secret that I wish to retire soon, though Draco doesn't realize how soon that day may come," Slughorn replied, his tone regretful.

Hermione felt a pang at the old wizard's words at seeing just how differently they perceived the experience of a Mastery curriculum. From what she understood, Draco craved the total package - _like the one I had._ Had Draco been her Apprentice, Hermione would have divulged all of that information to him from the start. It was her experience that a solid, well-built relationship was the foundation for trust and growth.

 _Perhaps… there could be hope for such an agreement..._

"Very well. I will consider that option, though I admit it is not currently in my realm to accept such an offer," Hermione replied after a moment. Slughorn nodded, his bald head gleaming in the light of the candles.

"I understand, I understand," he husked, his expression turning pensive.

"Then it seems we have an accord," Hermione stated, already moving to rise. She needed to be on her way.

"Indeed, we do. Thank you for meeting with me, Master Granger. I confess it's pleasant to have a fellow colleague in these halls again… particularly one of your distinction," Slughorn said, rising and offering a firm handshake. She took it and gave a demure smile in reply.

"I will contact Minerva this afternoon and hopefully have an answer for you by the end of the week regarding a potential teaching arrangement," Slughorn said respectfully.

"I will forward her my curriculum vitae," Hermione replied, already moving to open the door to the office as Slughorn followed.

As they moved down the short hallway toward the classroom, a thought occurred to her and Hermione cursed herself for not having addressed it earlier.

"Do you believe Professor Malfoy would take issue with me stepping in to teach?" she asked softly, turning back to the wizard who was huffing and puffing behind her. _Merlin, I guess he is getting old_ , she thought worriedly.

"Draco? No, no… he worries after his teaching abilities constantly. While he has a natural talent for it, I expect he'd be relieved to hand over the majority of his classes to you. Or share them, whatever your preference would be. Unfortunately, I've never had time to mentor him properly in that department. Too many other duties to see to between the students, being Head of House, preparing my curriculum for him, continuing to brew for a few private clients on the side," Slughorn replied, gesturing absently as he recited his many duties.

Hermione nodded, stepping into the classroom and taking a deep breath.

"That is indeed, a lot," she replied in a more normal tone, casting a subtle glance toward Draco.

The younger wizard was preparing the student workbenches with care, and she was rather pleased to see that he didn't look up as they entered. Whether it was a learned habit or not, Hermione appreciated absolute focus in the lab.

It seemed that Slughorn's words continued to resonate. _One thing at a time..._

"Then you understand, my dear," Slughorn said, his grey eyes crinkling into a smile. "Thank you for dropping by this morning, I know you have a busy day ahead."

She gave him a firm nod before spinning on one heel to leave, one hand offering a small wave.

"Best of luck in your first day of classes, gentleman," Hermione called, boots clicking purposefully as she strode out of the dungeons.

A quickly murmured tempus indicated that she had five minutes to ascend seven flights to get to the Arithmancy classroom. _Merlin's left sock, you're going to be late to your first class back!_

This would not do.

Arriving to the first staircase that was bustling with frantic figures in black robes, Hermione quickly came to a decision that she hoped would work.

Placed one hand on the polished railing, she stroked it gently for a moment, allowing her chest to fill with the genuine love and appreciation she felt for the castle and all that Hogwarts continued to represent to her.

Despite the odd looks she was receiving, Hermione paused and leaned forward, saying firmly, "I would be _ever_ so appreciative if you and your friends would help me out this morning and give me quick passage to the seventh floor? It seems I am running a bit late."

A moment later, Hermione felt a small spark beneath her fingers that seemed to indicate an affirmative, and the entire staircase shuddered as it began to shift toward a different corridor.

"Thank you, thank you," she said quickly, lips spreading into a wide smile even as she began jogging up the moving steps.

"I promise that I will return this afternoon and play with the lot of you!"

The staircase seemed to shiver with joy and it quickly altered its path - causing a number of shrieks and indignant voices to resound as it graciously grew another flight longer to connect Hermione to its friend - the third floor staircase that was usually too busy tricking its occupants with vanishing steps.

The staircases quickly formed an alliance - eager to please the strong witchling that so clearly appreciated their tireless dedication and sense of humor - she even laughed when the fifth floor stairs' began to wink at her with its wrought iron railings!

And - she had promised to _play!_

So deep was she in her thoughts and relief at having found a way to save herself from embarrassment, Hermione was completely oblivious to the fact that the halls had briefly fallen silent. A number of astonished eyes watched in disbelief as she quickly ascended several staircases - jumping lightly from one to another as the castle rerouted itself to her needs.

Hermione arrived upon the seventh floor with a mere minute to spare, turning to tickle the carved wood railing of the last staircase, which creaked and groaned in its laughter. Hogwarts' charm was truly unmatched anywhere else with its endearing sense of whimsy.

Blowing the staircase a small kiss, she smoothed her robes with a careful hand and took a breath, already clearing her mind to receive new information.

She was a student again. And there were things waiting to be learned.

Elsewhere in the castle, Hermione Granger's name was quickly spreading through the school's halls like wildfire…

For once, not for her role in the War…

Nor her membership in the elusive and mysterious Golden Trio…

Not even for her beauty or intellect, (for which there were already many burgeoning whispers and crushes)...

But because Hermione Granger was the only witch aside from Headmistress McGonagall, who could command Hogwarts _itself_.

And had she been watching, Hermione would have noticed a rather subdued pair of eyes watching from the shadows - the emerald orbs full of pride and just a _hint_ of amusement - before they abruptly disappeared, melting away into the mysterious fabric of the castle's walls.


	7. Chapter 7

Minerva was shocked when a parchment appeared on her desk in the late afternoon.

The occurrence in itself was not so surprising - her colleagues regularly sent short notes relating pertinent events they felt she should know about, however as her eyes began to carefully peruse the parchment's contents, Minerva was shocked to discover that it had been a student who had sent it.

Her eyes widened further at realizing just _whose_ parchment she was holding.

 _A CV? What even-?_

Before she could draw a quill to contact Filius, the wards shifted and Minerva was notified of an impending visitor to her office. She sniffed lightly to herself, emerald eyes still raking over the neatly organized information before her... at once insatiably curious to continue reading, and bewildered as to why the young witch thought it necessary to send it to her.

A familiar wheezing reached her ears and Minerva looked up at the sound, realizing that the answer to her question was likely on its way. She waved the door open.

"Horace," she called looking over her spectacles as her Potions professor entered. "I presume you're here to notify me as to the reason one of my seventh-years has just sent me her curriculum vitae?"

"Ah… sorry 'bout that, Minerva," the wizard began, dabbing a handkerchief to his glistening brow. _Hmph. At least he has the grace to look chastised._

"Fortunately, Master Granger is no ordinary seventh-year or I would scarcely doubt this conversation would be a possibility," he said rather cheerfully, taking seat opposite her with a rather heavy sigh.

"And which conversation is that, precisely?" Horace's abashed expression seemed to indicate his knowledge that he had a good deal of explaining to do.

As if her raised eyebrow wasn't enough.

With her focus on her guilty-looking Potions professor, Minerva hadn't noticed a second approaching visitor until Filius pressed the door open and strode through, an answer already falling from his lips.

"The one in which Horace indicates that he is delighted to announce the unexpected and ever-so-convenient arrival of one of the Potions Society's most promising Masters since our illustrious Master Severus Snape himself," Filius said swiftly, a small smile already gracing his lips.

A quick glance upwards saw the portrait in question feigning sleep.

The small wizard held up a hand at the beginnings of her protests and quickly charmed the second chair before her desk to lower itself before boosting him up.

"Now, Minerva. Hear us out. I've only just learned of it myself," Filius said, giving a small nod toward Horace. The portly wizard was still wheezing slightly.

"I'm waiting," Minerva replied dryly.

"Let us look at the bare facts, my dear. Unlike our other professors who are already complaining of the large workload and increased class sizes… Horace maintains his current duties to the Potions curricula while also adding in extra duties as Head of House _plus_ his work with Draco's Mastery program. It is a highly unusual workload given the school's history of accommodating its active Masters. So, let us begin with the simple fact of the matter which is that we have a witch present who is more than qualified to step in and alleviate some of the burden."

Inwardly, Minerva was more than a bit irritated by her Deputy discussing the personnel issue at hand in front of Horace himself, however a more rational side of her acknowledged the logic.

"I take it that you've seen her CV?" she asked, directing the question to Filius.

"Indeed I have. Most impressive. And what is most intriguing is her apparent desire to effect change at the secondary school level," he responded nodding toward the parchment in her hand.

Minerva glanced over it again carefully. _I would have never expected her to go to the Middle East…_

"A good friend of mine in Tel Aviv has indicated that she's made remarkable strides at changing Potions curricula throughout the Middle East in the last year and a half. Her methods are astonishing," Horace put in, already stroking his mustache with a smile of disbelief. He shook his head and chuckled.

"Granted, she comes from _the_ most well-renowned family of brewers on this side of the Atlantic… some would argue, _the world._ It comes as no surprise to me that she's already developed her abilities to a substantial level and has become a tenacious force in wanting to restructure the… er, more outdated traditions that continue to pervade Mastery culture."

Dimly, Minerva wondered about Horace's own Mastery status and how he was able to share that information so readily. _Perhaps the Potions Society binds its masters differently..._

"Do you know of her classification status then?" Minerva asked carefully. In her peripheral vision, she saw Filius sit forward slightly.

Horace glanced at the two of them carefully, hand obscuring his mustache. Minerva felt a twinge of guilt for asking, but it was a relevant question considering the extenuating circumstances and she wanted to be assured that the witch _was_ indeed qualified beyond her rather startling resumé.

"Second class," Horace replied swiftly, surprising her with his honesty. "However, my friend indicates that she could easily past her third and fourth classifications. Possibly even her fifth provided she devoted time to the experimental components. Her lack of continued credentials is… er, a minor form of protest."

Horace's expression dissolved into a slightly sheepish one and Minerva found herself swallowing a laugh of disbelief. Shaking her head slightly, she paused and removed her glasses momentarily at a loss for words.

 _Merlin's Beard - she took on her own Society!_

"That is… most interesting, Horace. I thank you for your candid words," Minerva managed after a moment, quelling her amusement. There were still a number of questions pressing in the back of her mind.

Filius was watching her with a steely expression and Minerva found herself sighing in reply.

"What is the arrangement you wish propose?" she asked heavily, attempting not to glare as both of the wizards perked up.

"Master Granger made it clear that she demanded both your approval and the approval of the Board before entering into any negotiations in earnest. She wants assurance that her continued studies at Hogwarts are to be considered entirely separate from any proposed teaching duties that we may wish to impart," Horace began gruffly, arms crossing over his enormous potbelly.

Minerva nodded her understanding. _Smart witch._

"I would like to propose that Master Granger take over the curriculum for all of the first and second year classes _and_ possibly mentor a few of the promising seventh-years on their final projects. Obviously, I would ask Draco to shadow her classes and potentially step in to teach alongside her - she's already been amenable to this suggestion and unfortunately, I haven't had the time to properly oversee Draco's classroom hours. However, I have a feeling he will take to her style rather well. The majority of marking can then fall to him obviously, leaving Master Granger room for her studies."

Minerva frowned, jotting down a few notes. She briefly noted the deferential way he kept referring to the young woman as "Master," trying to tamp down her own pride at hearing her colleague use the witch's formal title _. I see she took on the gender differential as well..._

"That is a considerable amount of work for the witch, Horace," she chided after a long moment, glancing over her colleague's proposal, "That would mean giving her ten or more extra hours of class time, without accounting for her own preparations which, knowing Miss Granger, are likely extensive. Her own class schedule would need to be completely re-done!"

Horace nodded apologetically.

"I realize this. However I've also taken the liberty to glance through her curriculum from the Jerusalem Preparatory Academy. It's no secret that they're at the forefront of elementary magical education, and to be honest, a lot of what she was teaching those nine and ten year old's is roughly equivalent to our current curriculum," Horace explained, his voice betraying just how impressed he was. To his right, Filius was nodding in agreement.

Minerva remained unmoved. A moment later Horace shook his head and sniffed lightly.

"Granger's a remarkable teacher, Minerva, I'll tell you that honestly right now… no bluffing or posturing on my part. The witch is a _natural_. And despite the rather… prickly conversation we held this morning, I know that she genuinely enjoys it."

Minerva was curious at his wording - _prickly?_ \- but filed it away for later. Before she could respond, however, her colleague was passing a small green bottle across her desk, it's contents suspiciously wispy and see-through.

"What is this?" she asked curiously, restraining her immediate impulse to take it and hold it up to the light.

"A memory my friend gave me. He sent it as soon as he found out I would be advocating for a place for her. She came in to give a workshop at his school in Tel Aviv. Either way, I think you should watch it later… it's, rather inspiring," Horace said, giving the bottle a rather fond look.

 _Odd._

Nothing about this conversation was normal, though, and Minerva found herself tucking the bottle into a desk drawer and drawing one hand to her temple. She did have to admit that it sounded like a promising arrangement. _And if there is a possibility she's interested in Horace's position…_

Well.

 _Don't count your dragons before they hatch, Minerva._

One glance at Horace indicated her friend's ailing condition and while she had felt guilty for saddling him with such a heavy workload, there simply hadn't been anyone available to step forward and help out. No one to her high-standards, that was.

 _But…_ Minerva thought distantly, ignoring the small flame of hope that had sprung forth. _This may work…_

Miss Granger's current class schedule would undoubtedly suffer, however. Even thinking through the logistics in her head, Minerva knew that the witch would have to skip several classes and meet her professors outside classroom hours.

 _But it could still work…_ a hopeful voice trilled in the back of her mind. _And perhaps she could take_ _ **your**_ _class one-on-one..._

Squelching the thought, Minerva sighed and coolly regarded the two wizards opposite from her.

"Very well, I shall investigate this matter further. I leave it to you to explain to your colleagues the potential difficulty they may soon encounter if Miss Granger's schedule should need to be rearranged. They must agree to accommodate her beyond class hours if she is to succeed in both endeavors," she said carefully, eyeing Horace with a raised eyebrow.

The glance he shared with Filius in response seemed to indicate his high level of confidence in the willingness of his colleagues. Though, if Minerva was to be honest, she knew the other professors would be just as eager to work with the witch one-on-one as she.

Before the wizards could gloat in earnest, Minerva held up a cautionary hand.

" _However_ , I make no secret that the final decision is up to the Board of Governors. If they find any conflict of interest here, things will have to remain as they are, is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for hearing me out." Horace rose with a groan and gave her a gruff nod.

"Filius," he nodded to her Deputy who gave a smile in return.

Waiting until the stout man retired from her office, Minerva turned to find her Deputy uselessly trying to cover a smile.

She frowned.

"Minerva, the arrangement is a wonderful idea, you have to see its potential," Filius said enthusiastically, propping one elbow on his chair as he grinned at her.

"Filius, while it seeks to serve _our_ interests, I have to doubt the veracity of how it will help _Miss Granger's_ ," she replied carefully. Already, there was a niggle of guilt.

"She clearly wouldn't have sent her CV if she didn't want the opportunity," he replied quickly, one hand gesturing slightly. "And though it will disrupt her schedule, I very well imagine it will be more comfortable for her to see to a number of her classes in the form of private tutoring. Already it is clear how difficult it will be for her to engage with her current peers."

 _He does have a point there._

"While I don't disagree with you, Filius, there is also the possibility that Miss Granger has returned from Hogwarts to… take a break from her recent activities," she replied, hearing the tinge of worry color her own tones.

Her Deputy opened his mouth to protest when a third voice cut in from above.

"You are forgetting, Minerva, that the witch is a _Potions Master_."

Minerva and Filius both turned in surprise as Severus' portrait suddenly spoke up, his silky baritone falling into the room with familiar grace.

"Knowing Miss Granger's lineage, keeping her from the dungeons is a surefire way to guarantee her failure here at Hogwarts. She will not be able to resist her own calling. Leaving her to her studies _without_ allowing her the freedom to brew and teach… it's unthinkable. This current proposal has the potential to combine the best of all worlds," he said smoothly, black eyes managing to glitter down at the both of them in the form of careful oil strokes.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. _Severus is the_ _ **last**_ _person I would have chosen to advocate on Miss Granger's behalf._

"Aren't you sworn to conceal the secrets of your Society?" Filius asked in surprise.

Severus glared in response.

"I believe the exact wording of the Oath warned of an untimely death should I have betrayed it..." he drawled, pausing for effect, "I hardly believe I should be concerned."

The droll response elicited an amused chuckle from Filius and a disbelieving sniff from Minerva.

"Forgive me, Severus. But does this appear to indicate that you _approve_ of Master Granger?" she asked smoothly.

"I never indicated she wasn't still an insufferable swot, if that's what you are implying," he snapped quickly. A moment later, the portrait shifted its black robes and settled back against its high-backed chair to regard them quietly.

"But if you are looking for assurances that the witch is qualified, I assure you that she is. No one leaves the Abrahams anything short of a veritable _master_ , in the most complete sense of the title. They have only accepted four apprentices. Ever."

She and Filius both sat back at that.

"I suppose now makes five," Severus mused quietly, a spidery hand rising to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

"The Abrahams?" Minerva blurted in surprise, suddenly connecting the name drop.

"I see you are aware of the family's reputation," Severus replied, his lips curling into a smug expression as Filius' brow furrowed in confusion. "I imagine you speak of the family's eldest who has long since departed Jerusalem and has garnered a rather… _impressive_ reputation in your own Society, if I am not mistaken?"

Minerva's cheeks flushed as she steadfastly ignored the surprise on Filius' face. She sent a glare toward Severus. _Damn him for making me slip!_

Sighing, she returned her focus to the desk and shuffled a few parchments ineffectively.

"Thank you for your input, Severus," she replied after a moment. "Your advice was most helpful."

The portrait gave a solemn nod before suddenly disappearing, slipping out of his frame now that his duties to the Headmistress were concluded. Minerva felt a familiar thrum of guilt sweep through her as she turned back toward Filius.

It remained unspoken that neither of them knew Miss Granger's true motivations for returning to Great Britain… and if Minerva's intuition held true, she already surmised it was a much larger matter than either of them realized. She only hoped that the young woman would remain safe within the castle's walls for the time being.

 _I wouldn't be surprised if the Wizengamot has something to do with this..._

"Fortunately for you, the final decision is not in your hands," Filius reassured gently, already reading into her expression with well-practiced diligence. She gave a small nod.

Smiling, Filius flicked his wand and the chair deposited him gently onto the rug as he poked his head around her desk to regard her one last time with raised eyebrows.

"I will see you at dinner shortly, my dear," he said as she nodded her assent. His blue robes momentarily disappeared as he strode behind the desk that was too tall for her to see him over. He reappeared, gliding toward the door with his familiar jaunty gait.

Minerva sighed and pulled out a blank parchment. _Well, this letter to the Board isn't going to write itself,_ she thought resignedly.

"Oh, and Minerva?"

She looked up to see Filius paused with his wand at the ready.

"I suggest you meet with Miss Granger again… sooner rather than later, perhaps," Filius chuckled. She lifted a dubious eyebrow as he flicked the door open.

He turned to give her a wink.

"I have a feeling she has more surprises in store for the lot of us!"

Another swirling gesture and he was gone, the heavy oak door clicking into place with resounding finality.

Minerva exhaled a long breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Her eyes fell upon the witch's expertly organized CV and unknowingly, her rose lips curled into a soft smile.

"I don't doubt it."

* * *

Gliding down the dimly lit hallway, Hermione was struck by how little the castle had changed and how drastically different a person she felt.

It was only a few hours after dinner and there were a number of students walking through the corridors as she made her way down several flights of stairs toward the basement floors.

Charms and Arithmancy had been her only classes of the day and beyond her revisions, she had spent the majority of her time reading ahead in her other courses.

As expected, much of the material was simply review to her - a natural byproduct of other texts she had absorbed in the course of her first Apprenticeships, though Hermione had been pleased to note that the standard of texts the Hogwarts professors employed was as high as she remembered.

It gave her confidence that she wasn't embarking upon a new mission for naught.

If she could see her plans through from start to finish, she could easily imagine herself establishing her own place within these same halls… working to educate future generations of witches and wizards in a manner that she hoped would have the potential to eventually dissolve the ridiculous restrictions of the Ministry.

"If not for you, then for your children," she whispered sadly, running a heavy hand along the uneven castle stone. Her boots echoed a sharp staccato on the polished floors, resonating through the corridor in a manner that increased her momentary wave of loneliness.

Sitting through all of her classes would be difficult, she knew.

Hermione understood intrinsically that while she had indeed absorbed a great amount of practical knowledge in her years abroad, she would need to excel above and beyond her fellow seventh year peers... for her own satisfaction, of course... but also to live up to her reputation that still persisted as having been the "brains" of the annoyingly dubbed _Golden Trio._

Undoubtedly the Ministry would seek to use that title against her. Fortunately for her, not only was that a goal she was happy to fulfill... but it also sought to entwine itself into a separate goal.

One of a more _personal_ nature.

Smiling briefly, Hermione allowed herself to retreat inward as she walked. There would be time enough to figure out how to approach _that_ goal soon enough.

Intuitively she knew that her feet would carry her to her final destination without needing to focus all of her attention upon it. Besides... walking through the castle was still a bit surreal.

It was so strange to be surrounded by the familiar school robes and carefree people… and yet to constantly encounter unfamiliar faces.

Everyone she passed seemed so young. Bright, innocent faces with inquisitive eyes.

The majority of gazes she met were curious or slightly intimidated. A few haughty or jealous, perhaps, but for the moment no one had attempted to approach her.

That suited her perfectly fine.

From the snippets of conversations she was hearing, Hermione felt herself marvel at the easy comfort of everyone's lives.

There was talk of Quidditch and classes. Gossip amongst fellow students. Homework questions and hastily muttered asides as she passed… such simple concerns. No talk of Darkness and mysteries lying in wait to be unraveled. The concerns of the future were simply that - distant thoughts too far away to be real.

Despite herself, Hermione tried to ignore the other remembered faces that attempted to superimpose themselves upon the children she passed.

For that's what they were… _children_.

Lives she had worked to protect.

And yet, somehow behind their carefree images… the memories still remained.

Her own remembered reflection… the young faces of Harry or Ron.

And then there were the ghosts.

Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown.

A bittersweet melancholy fell over her and for the first time since she had returned, Hermione allowed herself a moment to acknowledge the maelstrom of emotions roiling just below her serene exterior.

Yes, beneath all the turmoil she was still pleased.

It promised to be a bumpy ride, but she felt confident in her decision. She had bought herself precious time while Kingsley and his godforsaken Registry Department seemed content to let her be for the moment.

The classes would be what they were, and the proposal from Slughorn offered a potential outlet that would allow her to continue developing her skills as an educator. Taking a deep breath, Hermione worked to dispel the bubbling combination of hope and doubt as her mind shuttled through stray possibilities and unknown variables.

"Calm down," she chided herself quietly, "It's still the first day, after all,"

Looking up, her gaze momentarily flashed over the high arched windows of the Fourth Floor corridor and Hermione recalled the sound of shattering glass… hastily screamed instructions, spells flying, the resonant booms of falling rubble...

A group of rowdy Ravenclaws passed next to her and immediately, Hermione felt herself stiffen and slide back into her pleasant and serene exterior. A few of them cast her wary looks and she simply smiled politely in return, unwilling to engage despite one or two curious glances.

As their footsteps faded away down another corridor, Hermione sighed.

It seemed that she had underestimated just how surreal her return would be emotionally…

She was not the same witch who had roamed these halls nearly five years previous. She couldn't count those horrifying hours during the Final Battle nor the subsequent summer months of repairwork - the castle had borne little resemblance to the comforting fortress that she remembered from childhood.

The students she passed remained oblivious. The majority of them had not experienced the terrors of battle, though undoubtedly a number of their lives had been affected by War.

Hermione had grown up too quickly in comparison. That much was entirely certain.

That simple fact was what had driven her to leave the country and seek solace away from the memories of the War and its trauma… away from the prying eyes of the public who sought to elevate her and her friends to some sort of golden pedestal. Away from the sorrows of lost family and friends - lives ended too soon and the inevitable regret and questions of survivor's guilt…

And away from her own personal demons that threatened to tarnish the respect and confidence of her closest confidants…

It had not been a form of running away - Hermione had wracked her mind for months to disprove that notion and she was assured that had never been her intention. No, no, no. For starters, the Gryffindor within her would have never allowed it.

No. Despite everyone's preconceptions and expectations, she had found an alternative way to heal.

Sniffing wryly to herself, Hermione felt her lips curl into a soft smile as she descended another staircase - whispering a quiet assurance to the protesting wood that she would shortly be back to play as promised.

There was no use living amongst the ghosts of the past.

Rebuilding herself had been one of the most challenging and arduous tasks she had ever undertaken, but to her own surprise - Hermione discovered that she felt more than prepared to grab a hold of her life and fight for her beliefs and dreams in earnest.

It would be nearly as challenging an arduous as the past four years, but the lioness within her was primed and ready.

What better time than the present?


	8. Chapter 8

Minerva sighed in satisfaction as she allowed herself to sink into the chesterfield before the fire.

The grandfather clock in the corner had just chimed nine and there were still a few more hours before she was required to patrol for curfew.

A small advantage to being Headmistress meant that the first few weeks of classes left her with less work than her colleagues who were still in the midst of assessing their students' levels, preparing curricula, and assembling supplies and projects for the upcoming term. Her own curricula for the sixth and seventh year Transfiguration classes had been easily organized by mid-August, and until October rolled around with its necessary revisions of the fiscal year and projections into the next one, Minerva's workload was fairly light.

Gazing absently into the flames her lips quirked a smile and she wryly imagined that such freedom could easily change. _Those Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws will likely blow something up by the end of the week and I will be regretting my confidence._

And then of course, there was the uncertain matter of Miss Granger.

Frowning slightly, Minerva absently ran a finger along the dark wood of her wand, nails tracing it lightly as she thought about the young witch who seemed to be invading her thoughts with more and more regularity.

Their meeting the previous night had not unfolded as she had anticipated. Miss Granger's initial emotional outburst had been tempered immediately and Minerva had been surprised at how quickly the witch had recovered - sliding into her poised and enigmatic persona with relative ease in a way that Minerva had found startling, unnerving, and more than a bit compelling.

However, there _had_ been a familiar ease to their conversation that had felt… _nice_. There was no other way to describe it. It was as almost as if their gap in time had never occurred and Minerva had been caught up in the easy flow of their discussions - refreshed and reassured that Miss Granger was still indeed a witch who could captivate her attention.

She had detected small differences, however.

Prior to her departure, Minerva had always appreciated Miss Granger's forthright and oftentimes blunt way of speaking. She had been incredibly passionate. _Opinionated_ \- for the most part agreeing with Minerva on a number of topics, but unafraid to challenge her with questions or opposing viewpoints when stirred into debate.

Now, it seemed the witch had developed a bit more… _subtlety_.

The woman's self-confidence had evolved into a much more nuanced force, and Minerva had been surprised at how quickly she felt as though she had been speaking to an equal. The witch had a broader scope of knowledge than she remembered and it was clear that Miss Granger knew how to wield it carefully. The underlying passion was still there, yes… but it had grown and shaped itself into a more graceful power that had surprised Minerva with its wit and persuasion.

Minerva took a deep breath, smoothing her features as she felt how quickly her mind had fixated upon the mystery of Miss Granger.

 _Please… there are other concerns at present beyond this one witch._

Summoning a glass decanter and tumbler, Minerva poured herself a neat portion of Scotch.

One drink wouldn't hurt.

Sipping it immediately brought the satisfaction of well-balanced spice and smoke. Swallowing slowly created the familiar tingling warmth to her chest even as the flavor continued to open into her sinuses. Minerva took a deep breath, letting it out in a soft hiss as her thoughts turned to the impromptu meeting in her office in the afternoon.

Swirling the amber liquid in her class, she thought over the confidence and excitement of her colleagues. Where had this universal appreciation of the witch come from?

Granted, she knew she was biased as well, though Minerva thought distantly that she seemed to at least be working to remain more objectivity than either Filius or Horace.

At once, Minerva set her tumbler to the side, suddenly recalling something from the meeting that she had neglected to investigate.

Rising gracefully, she strode over to the large oak desk and opened the top drawer on the left.

Sitting quietly nestled next to her extra parchments and quills was the dark green bottle that Horace had passed her toward the end of their meeting.

Minerva bit one lip, momentarily unsure of the moral implications of watching a memory pertaining to a potential future employee. It certainly wasn't standard practice.

 _For Merlin's sake, there's nothing standard about this potential hire anyway!_

The niggle of interest continued to pulse as she stared at the small bottle and Minerva found herself reaching for it while simultaneously cursing her inborn curiosity that made it difficult to let go of a puzzle once discovered. It was a trait she shared with her Animagus and one that frequently became more trouble than it was worth.

 _Still…_

Plucking up the bottle quickly with long nimble fingers, Minerva waved open the ornate oak doors that housed the Pensieve and swiftly strode over.

 _You already sent the letter off to the Board… if nothing else this may help you advocate for Miss Granger's case._

Flicking her wand toward the doors to lock them against unwanted visitors, Minerva dimmed the ambient candlelight and poured the bottle's contents into the stone basin. The pearly opalescent liquid seemed luminous against the gray slate and she took a deep breath, mentally clearing her mind of all stray thoughts… if she was going to do this, she at least wanted to _strive_ for objectivity.

Glancing down, Minerva saw flashes of bright young faces. It was like watching the surface of a pond, but one teeming with unfamiliar snippets of people and places she didn't recognize. A moment later, a luminous image of Miss Granger's face flashed - her curls falling about her face attractively as she threw back her head in laughter.

Feeling a wordless compulsion, Minerva closed her eyes and leaned forward.

* * *

Hermione found herself smiling as she reached forward and tickled the pear. She had missed the whimsical quirks of Hogwarts' walls and the thin line it maintained between silliness and genius.

 _Jerusalem had none of this charm..._

A moment later, the painting swung open and she stepped through, careful not to trip over her long skirt.

"Miss Granger!" a squeaky voice said in surprise.

"Hello…" Hermione replied, leaving the greeting hang as she found herself gazing down into a pair of pretty blue eyes framed with long lashes.

"Ise called Bijou, Miss Granger," the House Elf said nervously, fiddling with the hem of her tea towel.

"A pleasure to meet you, Bijou. I wonder if I might speak with someone who could assist me with a few personal requests to the menu," Hermione asked gently.

The large ears seemed to perk up slightly at the mention of requiring help and her large blue eyes slid toward the left and she seemed to squeak at a few of the other Elves who had gathered around out of curiosity.

"Ise bringing you Ptolemy, Miss Granger. He is being the Head of the Elves…" Bijou said, giving her a small curtsy.

While she had never visited the Hogwarts kitchens, Hermione found herself impressed by the high ceilings and sheer amount of room throughout the large, brick space. The high walls were covered in various cooking instruments - arrays of pots and pans, strainers, and even a few large woks. One half of the long hall seemed to be devoted to storing dishes, the other half boasting five long tables that she imagined corresponded to the tables in the Great Hall above.

The wall to her immediate right seemed to be the designated cleaning area as it was covered with sinks and drying racks while the opposite end of the room boasted a number of wood ovens that looked rather impressive. A long corridor straight ahead had a number of doors that Hermione imagined lead to wherever they stored the food and supplies themselves.

"You all keep a fine kitchen here… I didn't realize there was so much space," she said conversationally. A number of the Elves squeaked in happiness and there were a smattering of bows at the compliment. More Elves had appeared out of curiosity and she noted a number of them squeaking and whispering to each other as they all waited.

"Miss Granger… I is being Ptolemy. What need is you having, please?" A gravelly voice off her elbow startled her and Hermione stepped back to find herself staring down into a pair of large green eyes topped by a silvery tuft of white hair. The small wizened Elf before her was nearly as hunched over as Kreacher, though by contrast to the Elf of Grimmauld Place, Ptolemy's royal purple tea towel was impeccably starched and the small walking stick he carried somehow managed to look rather regal.

"Master Ptolemy… a pleasure to meet you," Hermione said, remembering at the last moment to add on the honorific. She gave a small curtsy and didn't miss the number of apprehensive eyes that regarded her from behind the small stately Elf before her.

"Before I speak further, I know a number of you recall me from my earlier days at Hogwarts and I must ask that you forgive my naïveté… my first meeting with a House Elf betrayed the cruelty of some Pureblood wizarding customs. It… was not the most ideal introduction to the relationship between Wizards and Elves," Hermione said carefully.

Ptolemy was regarding her with an impassive expression and she felt an uncharacteristic wave of self-consciousness.

"As such, my views have since changed and I am pleased that you enjoy your work here at Hogwarts. I will not attempt to free any of you," she finished sincerely, looking around at the gathering. A number of small faces visibly relaxed and began to regard her with a bit more interest.

A moment later, Ptolemy nodded thoughtfully and cocked his head. One gnarled finger gestured to the side and a small Elf hopped forward to take his walking stick.

"Thank you, Miss Granger… we is happy to serve anyone needing assistance, but you is right that we are happy as we are. We is loving our work at Hogwarts and we is proud of the work we do. Thank you for understanding that," he said, folding his small hands behind his back. She thought his lips might have curled upwards into a smile, though it was hard to tell.

"Now. How is I helping you tonight?"

Hermione bit her lip and moved sideways slightly to perch on a large wooden barrel.

"Master Ptolemy, I wonder if I might make a few personal requests to the kitchen regarding some adjustments to the menu," she said, noting how a few of the Elves seemed to lean forward expectantly.

While all of them boasted white tea towels with the Hogwarts crest, Hermione noted that they seemed to be fastened with different colored pins. She wondered if that had to do with their different duties or the individual Houses they served.

"We are happy to accommodate individual needs, Miss Granger. Ise only needing to record them in my notes to the Headmistress… and asking her permission if the need is requiring us to be ordering different supplies," Ptolemy replied neutrally. Hermione nodded, folding her hands as she thought of how to word her request. She didn't want to seem _overly_ selfish, even though the Elves didn't seem to view such things with the same sense of ego as wizards.

"You see, Master… I am currently considered an active Potions Master and I am hopeful to soon embark upon a second Mastery program," she began, smiling lightly at the delighted gasps that met her ears. Bijou was looking at her with a combination of wonder and excitement.

"I spend a good amount of my mornings… er, exercising, if you will… and it seems I am finding difficulty with the substantial English and Scottish breakfasts we are given. Not that I don't find them entirely delicious," she added hastily. Ptolemy was already nodding.

"You is needing a different diet for your training. I is understanding. Is you having a list of recipes or nutritional needs that we is using?" he asked, peering up at her. Surprised at how quickly she had managed to achieve her goal, Hermione nodded before pulling a parchment from her pocket.

Ptolemy leaned forward to peruse it carefully, his large green eyes nearly crossing as he looked over the list of her usual meals with interest.

"We is more than happy to help, Master Granger," he said after a moment. Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding, eyebrows rising as she caught his use of her title.

Ptolemy gave a low bow before passing the parchment to a trembling group of Elves that fairly vibrated in their excitement to help. Hermione found herself curtsying in response, a smile breaking across her face.

"Thank you, Master Ptolemy… I greatly appreciate your assistance," she replied. He nodded once and turned smartly to stalk away, leaning heavily on his small walking stick even as one long finger pointed toward a pile of dirty dishes and he barked a few orders at some of the smaller Elves.

Now that their Head was back on duty, the large grouping seemed to scatter - and a moment later Hermione found herself marveling at the complete efficiency of the different groups. An assembly line of Elves had started washing dishes in one corner while another was polishing silverware with eerie machine-like rhythm. It was rather... amazing.

"Master Granger! Master Granger! You is helping us to plan a bit more?" Bijou squeaked, waving her over to where she and four other elves were still reading her parchment with interest.

Smiling, Hermione moved over and pulled out a small stool.

"Please thank Ptolemy again for being so accommodating," she said softly, taking note of how the group of Elves seemed to exchange looks. They giggled a moment later and nodded, quickly turning back to her parchment before squeaking lightly to each other as a number of long fingers pointed toward various ingredients and names.

"Now… how can I help _you?_ " Hermione asked with a sly smile, happy when they again dissolved into giggles, catching her little joke.

Things were looking up.


	9. Chapter 9

Minerva opened her eyes to find herself in a brightly lit hall with large arching windows that appeared to overlook an enclosed courtyard. She was standing to one end of the hall that boasted a number of roughly hewn wooden tables and one obvious desk beneath the windows that looked to be the front of the room.

The space was entirely empty and she looked around, wondering what exactly she was supposed to be witnessing when a pair of French doors at the opposite end of the hall abruptly opened and two well-dressed wizards marched through, their long robes fluttering lightly as they moved.

"- sure about this, Aviv?" The man speaking seemed to be in his late sixties - his silvery hair pulled back into a smart ponytail as he frowned, his mustache and goatee reminding Minerva of Talfryn Hawtrey.

"Director, if you wish to stay, Master Granger is more than amenable. She has assured me that the students will be brewing alongside her and that the first part of the workshop is going to be devoted to points of safety. She doesn't tolerate shenanigans," the younger wizard replied confidently, already sweeping to the desk and arranging a few parchments.

"Still… you have to admit, Finite Transformatus is an incredibly complicated brew for teenagers, let alone our eight-year olds!"

Minerva's eyebrows lifted. She had to agree.

"Director, I trust her completely. I guarantee you that if you stay, you will be pleasantly surprised," the younger wizard replied confidently. He seemed to be mid-forties, though it was always difficult to tell with fellow witches and wizards.

Minerva frowned at realizing that while she understood the words being spoken, both sets of lips were moving slightly out of synch. The Pensieve compensated for languages - allowing the user to understand whatever was understood by the memory owner. _They must be speaking… what? Hebrew? Arabic?_

Before she could dwell on it further, Minerva found herself gasping as a figure passed straight through her in the disconcerting manner of all Pensieves. A moment later, she recognized the lithe figure as that of Miss Granger herself.

Unknowingly, Minerva found herself trailing behind the witch as she strode into the room, a plain leather satchel hanging over one shoulder as she extended a hand in greeting.

"Good afternoon, gentleman." The light, musical tone was unmistakable and despite the Pensieve's compensation, Minerva found herself smiling at the difference in accents. Miss Granger's clipped tones fell quietly upon the room in their familiar precise manner.

"Master Granger, welcome. I trust you had an uneventful journey?"

The younger wizard, Aviv reached out to clasp her hand, his dark eyes crinkling into a pleased smile. The director gave a gracious nod.

"Indeed, though I shall regret having to return. It was already thirty-three degrees when I departed this morning," Miss Granger replied. Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"I don't miss the city of gold, that is certain," Aviv chuckled, "Is there anything you require?"

The witch shook her head gently.

"Not at the moment. The students shall be arriving shortly?"

A growing swell of footsteps and laughter reached their ears and the Director merely raised his eyebrows in response. They all turned toward the French doors which quickly swung open to issue a stream of beige-robed children, the majority of whom boasted tanned skin and dark eyes. It was clearly summer.

Minerva allowed herself a moment to study the young woman standing next to her. Miss Granger was watching the incoming students quietly, her full lips curved into a gentle smile as Minerva's eyes raked over her lithe feminine form encased in a sleeveless linen dress in a rather lovely shade of olive. The witch's arms were tanned and well-toned, betraying sinewy muscles that Minerva didn't recall before her departure.

The mane of curls was piled high atop the witch's head and encased in an artfully arranged wrap with a floral pattern in ivory and gold. Minerva found her eyes lingering upon a few tendrils that had escaped the twisted fabric to trail along the deliciously long neck, and a moment later she flushed... realizing in embarrassment that she was practically ogling a former student.

The large group of children suddenly noticed their Director and Miss Granger and abruptly fell silent, quickly sliding onto stools with serious expressions. Minerva caught all three of the teachers hiding smiles.

"Hello everyone. If you would please set your belongings along the back wall. There is no need for books or materials today," Miss Granger said quietly. Though her voice was soft, there was an underlying strength to it that Minerva had never heard.

 _It seems she found her teacher voice,_ she thought with a smirk.

A few students looked at each other with surprised expressions but they all moved en masse to complete her instructions, a few already whispering excitedly. Before they could turn around and head back to their spots, Miss Granger quickly waved a hand and vanished all of the stools and leaving only four workbenches.

 _Wandless magic?_

Minerva literally stopped and stared for a moment, taking in Miss Granger's lifted chin and the easy way in which she waited for the students to return. _When did she learn wandless magic?!_

Unlike Minerva, the students appeared to take the rather advanced demonstration of magic in stride and they shuffled back to the center of the now-clean space, clumping together and shifting… their linen robes making slight swishing noises.

"My name is Master Granger and I'm here to teach you a rather complicated brew today," the witch said swiftly. Setting her satchel on the floor in the middle of the room, Miss Granger motioned for the students to create a semi-circle around her.

A moment later, they gasped as a number of square parchments flew out of her bag and settled themselves upon the floor in a flurry of movement. There were at least thirty squares.

"Now, I need three brave volunteers," Miss Granger said seriously. "These volunteers must be confident and responsible individuals… unafraid of unexpected consequences and ready to help us all with a project that we will be working on for the remainder of your class today."

Minerva smiled at the warmth infusing the witch's words - noting the way it immediately resulted in several small hands shooting into the air. The witch made an artful show of deliberating and a moment later, three energetic students bounded forward. Two boys and a girl.

"May I have your names please?" Miss Granger asked. She received quietly mumbled responses that Minerva didn't catch before nodding and organizing them into a line in front of the desk. She folded her hands behind her back and began pacing around the small semicircle.

"Masters David, Kohali, and Rosenberg have graciously stepped forward assist us in our endeavors today. In a moment, they shall risk their dignity… and perhaps their lovely robes for us," Miss Granger said carefully, her eyes flashing mischievously.

The three students' eyes widened slightly and Minerva could see Aviv hiding a chuckle as he and the Director watched from the back of the room.

A moment later, the three students jumped and there was a good amount of giggling as they suddenly sprouted an array of extra _things…_ Minerva's eyes widened.

The girl sprouted a peacock tail and turned over one shoulder to look at the long feathers in with open-mouthed shock. One of the boys was boasting a fire-red dragon tail complete with gold spikes on the end, and the last boy was the new possessor of a lion tail that whipped back and forth as he tried to catch it in both hands.

The laughter grew louder but before Minerva could grow concerned about the three transfigured students, Miss Granger stepped forward and began clapping for them.

"Please give our brave volunteers a gracious round of applause. They look _magnificent,_ do they not?"

There was more laughter through the clapping and a lot of shouts of "yes!"

The three faces transformed from shock into amusement and they quickly began prodding each other, giggling, and making an exaggerated show of trying to grab their new appendages.

Minerva chuckled, impressed at how quickly the witch had managed to turn the experience into something… well, _fun._

"My three masters, fear not - we shall soon come to your aid! We _are_ benevolent class, yes?"

Miss Granger paused and gave a sideways glance to the students who were still giggling. She received a number of emphatic nods and a few more shouts before breaking into a sunny smile and turning back to the trio. Her easy enthusiasm was infectious and Minerva found herself smiling in response.

"Well then, it seems we are _all_ in agreement to help return you to your proper forms. But in order to do so, we must work together to brew a very complex potion."

The giggling continued a bit but Miss Granger simply ignored them.

"Now, this is a brew that I typically give to my _older_ students. In some secondary schools it's not taught until _third year_ ," she paused and Minerva smiled again as the entire class fell silent, many pairs of eyes widening in surprise.

"Our three masters have been temporarily transfigured. Can anyone think of a spell that one might use to cancel their… extra accessories?"

An eager girl toward the left raised her hand, her dark eyes flashing in excitement as Miss Granger nodded.

" _Finite Incantatem,_ Master?"

"Very good, Miss…?"

"Mizrahi, Master." Miss Granger strode over and placed a warm hand on the girl's shoulder as she continued lecturing.

"Miss Mizrahi is correct. However, as none of us have wands today… we are going to brew the spell's equivalent. Let me be clear that _unlike_ spells, Potions must be tailored to respond to the method that altered the taker. A Charm must be undone by a potion meant to undo Charms. Another Potion must be undone with a brew meant to undo a Potion. What did I use on our three masters?"

She opened a hand expectantly and a chorus of voices resounded.

"Transfiguration!"

Minerva was surprised by the obvious enthusiasm and she found herself chuckling softly.

"Exactly. Therefore today we shall be brewing _Finite Transformatus_. And we shall do it together."

Minerva found herself perching on the front desk as she watched Miss Granger conjure all of the necessary ingredients in small piles on the floor on small squares of parchment. First, the witch let the children paw through all of the ingredients - asking them to note small differences in smell, touch, appearance that would help them choose the right amounts and materials for the potion. There was a good amount of curious digging and laughter and she was rather surprised at how happily the students took to their task.

Then, Miss Granger had them split into four groups - rotating through stations as they learned how to properly julienne bubotuber roots, squeeze the juice from elderberries, carefully siphon pollen from bright purple Ellora flowers, and separate the stamens from dried saffron. After each successful completion of a task, the students reverently began placing small glass petri dishes in neat rows on the front desk, organized alphabetically.

Following the group rotations, she had them split into trios - each one receiving a list of simpler tasks that they were to complete together as the ingredient pool in the middle of the room gradually began to dwindle in size.

Despite her initial promise toward objectivity, Minerva found herself impressed at how Miss Granger effortlessly managed the class.

The witch demonstrated all of the tasks twice - once for left-handed students and then again for right handed students. Careful attention was drawn to tricky details, ensuring that everyone was aware of safety concerns, particularly when knives and more difficult ingredients were being handled. Minerva shadowed the young woman, watching her give notes and corrections... stepping in to rearrange small hands on handles, and to encourage them to use their body weight to help leverage some of the more difficult tasks.

Miss Granger was stern but also personable and Minerva was surprised when not even twenty minutes into the class, it was clear that she knew all of the students' names. She was quick to spot trouble and mischief - managing to convey her displeasure instantly and yet issue challenge so that the students in question rushed to return to their tasks with enthusiasm rather than resentment.

Aviv and the Director seemed to drift around the periphery and Minerva eventually found herself following, the three of them unconsciously wearing matching fond expressions as the eight-year old's admirably navigated the tenuous line between enthusiasm, focus, and rapt listening.

 _It is strange_ , she thought… _to see such small children behaving so similarly to adults._

Miss Granger seemed to recognize the more rambunctious students' need for hands-on assistance in the more challenging fine-motor tasks and those who needed different explanations from those she had provided to the group. She was quick to offer praise and to point out specific students as positive examples while encouraging the successful individuals to act as leaders for their friends.

Minerva was further impressed as the witch continued to reign in the residual giggles as the three transfigured students occasionally ran into others with their new appendages. She was careful to ensure that they remained confident, comfortable, and responsible… even making a show of avoiding the one boy's rather _enthusiastic_ dragon tail as it threatened to trip her on her way across the room.

From the way Miss Granger raised an elegant eyebrow and appeared offered a small aside, Minerva barely managed to contain a guffaw as the boy in question puffed up in pride and returned to his work with exaggerated deliberation, his dragon tail carefully curled around his feet. The dark shining eyes seemed to indicate he would follow her anywhere.

Minerva was surprised when she checked the clock on the side of the room and saw that nearly forty minutes had passed. Miss Granger had managed her time with astounding efficiency and it was no surprise when the witch clapped her hands and notified everyone that they had five more minutes before it was time to begin brewing in earnest.

Sidling to one side of the room, Minerva followed as Miss Granger drifted over to Aviv and the Director.

"They are doing a lovely job, Director," the witch said, her amber eyes warm. The two wizards exchanged a fond glance and the older gentleman shook his head lightly.

"Miss Granger, I am impressed. I've never seen them work so diligently for so long!" The wizard said, his pride evident as he gazed across the room.

"It helps that I am a new face… though they clearly have been taught well," she smiled, nudging Aviv with one elbow. He shook his head and chuckled.

"You make it look easy," he replied good-naturedly as Miss Granger chuckled and crossed her arms.

"It's all about balance," she murmured, already moving back toward the center of the room.

Minerva followed, smirking lightly as a number of eyes widened in panic and there was an increase in hissed whispers as the students rushed to complete their tasks.

"You have one minute left. Remember, _rushing_ is only going to make your task more difficult! You _can_ move quickly with purpose," Miss Granger said loudly, sending out a few pointed looks.

"A good potioneer knows how to remain _in control_ of the situation! Take a breath, we're almost to the end of our tasks," she finished, stepping aside as a number of small bodies began converging on the front desk bearing more petri dishes full of ingredients, their faces purposeful and determined.

A few minutes later, the workbenches were clear and the ingredients on the floor had been vanished. Miss Granger had summoned a large copper cauldron out of her satchel along with a burner and three different types of ladles.

The students sat upon conjured cushions in their semicircle and they watched with rapt attention as Miss Granger explained the importance of _mise en place_ , their eyes widening as she wordlessly called over the individual petri dishes - making a few comments on their work and scattered compliments as she organized the ingredients in an order that best facilitated the brew at hand.

Minerva also found herself listening with interest. The witch asked a number of leading questions that quickly explained her reasoning for the cauldron type, the methods of adding and stirring ingredients, and a bit more about the need for potions in general. Potions had never been a strong suit of her own and yet as Miss Granger spoke, Minerva found a number of small details and ideas making complete sense in a way that had never occurred to her as a student.

She found herself surprised and admittedly, rather fascinated as she listened.

As the witch spoke, she brewed - calling up various individuals one by one to assist her in the process - asking them to explain what they were seeing, smelling, or feeling as they added ingredients at her side, stirred, or adjusted the flames with her help. Minerva couldn't help but feel envious at times… the witch was clearly a natural teacher and in her element in a way that had taken Minerva years to negotiate when she had first begun teaching.

Their individual styles were very different, she noted, and Miss Granger seemed to balance a blend of gentle humor against careful direction. At times there was something almost… _maternal_ about her methods that surprised Minerva. Somehow, she had imagined that the witch would have adopted a more stern persona like herself.

 _These students are much younger than those at Hogwarts,_ Minerva reminded herself - watching curiously as the witch crouched behind a shorter boy, hugging him gently at the waist for support as he worked with both hands to stir the thickening brew with a determined expression on his face.

A moment later Miss Granger murmured something quietly that only he could hear and the small features broke into a brilliant grin as he nodded in reply, turning to flash her an adoring look before she hugged him gently and sent him scampering back his place.

After a few more minutes Minerva watched as the three transfigured students stepped up to the front of the room, everyone laughing together as Miss Granger had them strike one last pose with their tails for good measure. She carefully ladled the potion into three clear phials, taking a moment to thank everyone for their participation as she indicated the potion was indeed _absolutely_ the right color and consistency thanks to all their hard work.

The three students and everyone laughed again as Miss Granger encouraged them to pinch their noses before drinking, warning them that the potion tasted rather bitter.

A moment later the tails quickly shrank and the three students looked behind themselves in comical amazement to find their recent additions replaced with thin air. The class gave them another round of applause as Miss Granger quickly waved the rest of the potion into neat phials that labeled and stoppered themselves. The cauldron was vanished and the witch picked up her satchel before regarding them solemnly.

Wide eyes looked back at her as Miss Granger announced that their hard work would be sent to the school's infirmary as they had all pitched in to replenish a rather difficult brew that was hard to find in Tel Aviv. Their teacher, Aviv, came forward to corroborate the witch's words and the class fairly vibrated in their excitement at having made a "real potion."

Minerva found herself smiling openly as the class drew to an end… and thirty small figures suddenly converged upon Miss Granger, plying her with hugs and happy smiles.

The young woman gave them a big smile in return, reaching out her arms to try to draw them all into a large group hug, her musical laughter ringing in Minerva's ears even as the bright room began to waver and fade…

Lifting her up and away…

... Out of the bright sunshine and back into the familiar darkened chambers of her office.

Minerva paused for a moment, her heart swiftly pounding as her body readjusted to the real world. A glance at the grandfather clock told her that little time had passed; fortunately, despite their length, the Pensieve processed memories with immediacy similar to one's own mind. She still had a little over an hour before it was time to see to her rounds.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts still full of sunshine and childish laughter... potions ingredients... small eyes watching curiously. Her fingers gripped the edge of the stone basin as she reviewed the memory in its entirety... her lips quirking as she realized just why Horace had given her the bottle in the first place.

 _Miss Granger is a natural... we would be lucky to have her..._

She replayed the witch's first entrance. How she had strode confidently into the room and managed to command everyone with such poise and ease.

Minerva hadn't realized just how much the young woman had changed. It was difficult to tell beneath the heavier layers of Hogwarts robes, but in the memory... she had been surprised by the lithe, feminine body. Strong arms and tanned skin...

The dusting of freckles across tanned cheeks and the straight, demure nose...

Long fingers deftly demonstrating how to julienne, the short nails painted a deep crimson...

Amber eyes glowing in amusement... catching the bright light...

Her own lips parted slightly as Minerva mentally traced the lovely caramel curls and full lips framing white teeth as the witch had thrown her head back in mirth...

 _She was arresting... luminous..._

Opening her eyes, Minerva gasped lightly... suddenly at a loss to explain the unexpected direction of her thoughts. She looked around even as her cheeks flushed, but the portraits remained asleep and silent above her.

 _A lovely memory... but it was_ _ **just**_ _a memory. Nothing more_...

Assured that no one had been privy to such a lapse in control, Minerva smoothed an elegant hand over her dark hair, quickly stepping away from the Pensieve and banishing the memory back to its green bottle.

She took a deep breath and turned, bizarrely wishing for a mundane work-related task to occupy her time.

 _It was just a memory_ , she repeated.

Returning to the chesterfield purposefully, Minerva summoned a random book from a shelf and opened it.

Unseeingly, her eyes flicked over the text as she reached for the glass tumbler, barely tasting the Scotch as it slid down her throat.

The fire was burning low in the hearth, the peripheral embers bathing the room in shades of crimson.

Unbuttoning her robes slightly, Minerva tried to convince herself it was just the residual heat from the fire. That the warmth alighting upon her cheeks and chest was simply left over from the disconcerting experience of the Pensieve.

"It was just a memory..." she whispered.

Her emerald eyes gazed past the upside-down text of her book and into the crackling flames.

Watching the glowing tongues of fire, Minerva somehow manage to divine caramel curls... and deep amber eyes glowing with laughter.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione closed the painting with a smile, her boots clicking on the stone as she began to move purposefully down the kitchen corridor back to the main corridor.

The Elves had been remarkably thorough - Bijou and her small group had insisted that Hermione explain several recipes in greater depth while they made meticulous notes on a clipboard. At least she had been assured that her training would progress with greater ease and comfort.

"Hermione?" A small voice called out from behind her and Hermione turned, wondering who could possibly be wishing to speak with her at such a late hour.

 _It must be close to ten thirty by now..._

A moment later, a small black and yellow robed figure was rushing toward her from the kitchen corridor and Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. That feeling blossomed into concern as she took note of the flying braids and hidden expression as a young witch ran toward her at full tilt.

"Fiona?"

The affirmative came in the form of a small pair of arms wrapping themselves tightly around her waist, nearly knocking her backwards. Hermione's arms automatically wrapped around the small girl in surprise and one hand coming to tilt the witch's chin upwards as she realized the small body was trembling.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently. Dark brown eyes streaming with tears suddenly met hers and Hermione stroked the girl's cheek gently.

"I - I sh-shouldn't be here!"

Fiona's choked reply was interrupted by several more hot tears that spilled down her reddened cheeks. It took a moment for Hermione to understand what the girl meant.

"Of course you should. Don't ever tell me otherwise," Hermione replied swiftly, working to pry the girl's arms off of her. Fiona stepped back at once, folding her hands dejectedly as Hermione kneeled down to look up at her.

"What happened, Fiona?" she asked seriously. _If anyone did anything to her, I'll hex them into the next century!_

"I… w-we… we had _Potions!_ "

Hermione was surprised when the witch fairly spat out her favorite subject, though she tried not to let her face betray it.

"I sincerely hope Professor Malfoy didn't turn you off Potions for good. If he has, we'll have to share a few choice words with him," Hermione replied, trying to diffuse the situation with humor.

It didn't help.

"I d-didn't understand _anything!_ " Fiona cried, one hand coming up to wipe her eyes angrily. "I don't _get_ it! There are so many th-things to r-remember and I didn't know wh-what the ingredients were… and everything was so _strange!_ I'm going to fail it for sure! I just _know_ it!"

Another sob made its way out of her throat and Hermione quickly pulled the witch to one side and into the shadows where they wouldn't be quite so visible. _The last thing I need is Peeves or Filch coming along to make this worse._

"Fiona, my dear… look at me," Hermione commanded gently. When the girl didn't respond, she pressed one finger beneath her chin and waited for the dark brown eyes to meet hers.

The girl sniffled slightly, her shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping in her sobs, but a moment later the red-rimmed eyes gazed upward at her again.

"Fiona. Today was the first day of classes. Do you remember this morning when I told you it would all be overwhelming?"

"Y-yes, b-but…"

"No buts. You are being irrationally hard on yourself and while Potions may have proven itself to be one of the more foreign subjects to you, there is plenty we can do to fix the situation," Hermione said calmly. Fiona gulped, her hands coming up to wipe her eyes again, but she nodded.

"Now, I want you to do me a favor and take a _deep_ breath," she said, smiling slightly as Fiona's eyes rolled. A moment later the little witch did as she asked.

"All right, now repeat after me."

Again she received an eyeroll, but Fiona smiled crookedly and nodded.

"I, Fiona Oliver, do solemnly swear," Hermione said clearly.

"I, Fiona Oliver, do solemnly swear," Fiona repeated quietly.

"That I will do my absolute best to be kind…"

The witch heaved a dramatic sigh and repeated her words.

"To my House, my classmates, and most importantly myself," Hermione said, punctuating each word with a finger on the girl's sternum. Fiona rolled her eyes again but repeated everything with a wavering smile.

"And that I will _listen_ clearly to those who can help me."

"And ignore those who cannot."

The girl's voice grew stronger and Hermione found herself smiling back into the pair of big brown eyes that reminded her so much of her own.

"And I will _definitely_ listen to Miss Hermione Granger."

The girl's face broke into a wide grin and she repeated the phrase with enthusiasm.

"Because I know that she will personally tutor me in Potions if I feel that I need it."

Fiona squealed in excitement and threw her arms around Hermione's neck, her laughter bubbling as she bounced happily.

"Oh, will you? You would do that? Would you really?"

"Yes! Of course, my dear! I happen to rather _enjoy_ Potions quite a lot," Hermione replied, one eyebrow raising as she regarded the young Hufflepuff in mock seriousness. "It would be _ever_ so disappointing if one of my cubs ended up disliking it because of some sort of perceived difficulty."

"Thank you, Hermione! _Really!_ I was so worried I was going to fail it…" Fiona sighed, wiping her face again with a sleeve as Hermione straightened and stood up.

"But really, I warn you… I'm dreadful. Like, _really dreadful_ ," Fiona said worriedly, her brows pinching together as she looked up at Hermione with a twinge of guilt.

"Nonsense. You've had one class. And I'm rather good at explaining things," Hermione replied confidently, adjusting her satchel across her shoulder. Fiona didn't seem convinced.

"I don't want you to hate me because I'm not good at it…" she whispered softly, fiddling with the sleeve of her robes. Hermione's heart went out to the girl.

"Fiona, what did I have you swear to yourself just now?" Hermione asked quietly. The girl looked up at her in confusion before dawning passed across her face.

"I promised I would be kind to myself," she replied shyly, smiling when Hermione lifted her eyebrows.

"Listen, my dear. All good things in life require practice. Every powerful witch in the world - all of our professors, the Headmistress, even Helga Hufflepuff herself started just where you are now. At the very beginning, likely terrified of messing something up," Hermione began, placing a warm hand on the girl's shoulder.

"But the truly great witches learn early that they have to _work_ hard. Yes, maybe some have inborn talent or a penchant for a specific discipline… but _true talent_ , Fiona, lies in understanding that all good things in life require effort. If you want to succeed at something, you have to chip away at it slowly… and be willing to put in the work."

Fiona's bright face was looking up at her very seriously, and limned in golden candlelight, Hermione was quickly impressed by the steely and determined expression gracing the witch's youthful features.

"I understand," Fiona replied, her high voice free from tears.

"Yes, I believe you do," Hermione responded with a smile. She squeezed the small shoulder and took a step back.

"D'you think you could still help me later this week?" Fiona asked hopefully. Hermione nodded, already formulating a plan that would possibly manage to kill two birds with one stone.

"Let us meet tomorrow night. I will tell you where," Hermione replied, already hoping that the Room of Requirement had been sufficiently repaired to help them out. The Headmistress and Professor Flitwick had been attending to those wards just before she had left Great Britain.

She moved to draw Fiona into a hug when an unexpected clatter of stone on stone resounded through the corridor behind them. Hermione had her wand out and pointed into the shadows in a flash, eyes searching the darkness as she wordlessly cast a revelation charm. A subtle orange light glowed above the corner momentarily.

 _An Animagus?_

"What was that?" Fiona whispered fearfully, drawing close even as she fumbled for her own wand.

Hermione wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders and gave a small squeeze. Intuition told her that if it was some sort of threat, they would have been pranked or attacked already.

A moment later, the shadowy enclave of the corner leading back toward the kitchens shifted and Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise at recognizing the familiar shape. She quickly schooled her features back into a neutral expression.

 _Spying, are we?_

Interesting.

"Come here," Hermione said firmly, eyes boring into the shadows where she knew the small figure lay lurking. Her expression softened.

"I have someone I want you to meet."

* * *

Minerva froze as her hind paw nudged a loose corner of the foundation and a pebble tumbled onto the stone floor. A thousand unbecoming words sprang to mind and she ruffled her coat slightly to calm the inarticulate fury that flooded through her at her unexpected misstep.

 _And you call yourself a spy!_

The witch and the girl were peering into the shadows where she was hidden and automatically, Minerva flattened herself even lower, hoping that they would simply let her go.

"Come here."

Hermione's unmistakable voice rang out clearly and Minerva winced, noting how the amber eyes were suddenly boring into hers with alarming accuracy. _She can't possibly see me, can she?_

"I have someone I want you to meet."

Well that sounded less intimidating.

Curiosity won over and a moment later, Minerva emerged… head and tail held high as if she hadn't been just caught skulking suspiciously in the basement.

In truth, she really hadn't meant to spy on the two of them.

After staring pointlessly into the hearth for an untold number of minutes, Minerva had finally shaken herself free of her reverie and decided to attend to a number of smaller matters before the curfew began and she started her rounds in earnest.

Her trip to visit Ptolemy had been interrupted when she had heard Miss Granger's voice obviously comforting someone in distress. Transforming into her Animagus had been an instinctual response, though now Minerva was kicking herself at how obvious and nosy it made her appear.

 _You haven't had that impulse since you were in your twenties... what's wrong with you?_

Ignoring the inner voice that chided her for the unexpected slip-up, Minerva flicked her tail impatiently.

At the moment, Miss Granger was gazing down at her with thinly veiled amusement and Minerva busied herself with the small first-year who smelled… interesting. Familiar somehow, yet decidedly unique. The young girl had obviously been crying recently and against her better judgment, Minerva walked over and wound herself between the girl's ankles.

She had only caught the latter half of their conversation and had been rather touched by Miss Granger's generous offer of assistance. _As if she doesn't have enough in her cauldron at the moment..._

"This is Fiona Oliver," Miss Granger explained for her benefit as the young witch gave them both a quizzical look. "She's a first-year Hufflepuff. Muggleborn, born in London. We were just discussing the difficulties of Potions classes."

Ah, so that explained a bit of the connection…

Minerva stepped back and sat down a bit further away out of their reach, wondering how to best salvage the situation with her dignity intact.

 _Far too late for that..._

Fiona was looking between the both of them with a disbelieving expression that clearly indicated how very new to the Magical world she was.

"Fiona this is… Athena," Miss Granger said, gesturing toward Minerva with a half-smile as if introducing a cat were a most commonplace occurrence. Inwardly, she sniffed at the nickname. _I haven't been called that in_ _ **years**_ …

"Lovely to meet you, Athena," Fiona replied curiously after a moment, clearly understanding that Miss Granger wasn't joking.

"This is a very special cat," Miss Granger said softly, gazing at Minerva with a warm expression that somehow seemed rather intimate. She curled her tail around her toes and chose to look at the young Hufflepuff instead.

"Why?"

"Well, for starters, she's rather, powerful… and she will help you should you need it, though I warn you that she is not a pet and she will not take kindly to unwanted attention," Miss Granger explained, crossing her legs and leaning against the wall casually.

"Like Mrs. Norris?"

Minerva rolled her eyes, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by either witch.

"Well, no. Athena has a more… discerning moral compass, I think," Miss Granger replied diplomatically, her tone revealing the barest hint of amusement.

 _At least she's building my reputation,_ Minerva thought dryly. A bit more self-consciousness energy was beginning to creep along her spine, and a large part of her had to actively resist the urge to walk away and resume her natural form. _A childish slip-up, Min... you know better than this!_

"Who does she belong to?" Fiona asked, crouching down to look at Minerva more directly. The bright brown eyes seemed rather familiar.

Minerva looked up as Miss Granger laughed unexpectedly, ears quirking in pleasure as she absorbed the young woman's amusement alongside a bit of her own. A moment later, she was caught in the warm amber gaze and again, Minerva found it a bit unnerving.

"Athena belongs to no one," Miss Granger replied softly, continuing to gaze at her with the same unreadable warmth.

"She is her own… cat. She roams the castle at will and it answers to her. She is immensely wise and she is a powerful friend to have."

Minerva was surprised and rather touched by the witch's words.

A moment later her fur rippled in discomfort as the urge to transform and envelop the young woman in a hug washed through her.

 _This is inappropriate... you must leave..._

"Wow… has she been here long? How old is she?" Fiona asked, cutting into the one-sided conversation bluntly in a way that suddenly had Minerva standing, her tail whipping in irritation.

Fiona stood and watched her with a confused expression.

"Believe me. Athena is… young enough," Miss Granger replied with a sensual smile that suddenly had Minerva's ears pricking forward. She paused mid-step in confusion.

 _But... what?_

The young Hufflepuff girl shrugged and knelt down again to look Minerva in the eye.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Athena. I promise I will never pet you without permission," Fiona said, her childish features drawn into a most serious expression. Inwardly, Minerva chuckled, and outwardly she chose to step forward and rub up against the girl's proffered hand for a brief moment.

 _Well fortunately, it seems that at least one of our first-years is a sweet thing.  
_

"That's a high mark of praise, Fiona. I can't say that Athena has ever responded to me with such _enthusiasm_ ," Miss Granger said with just a hint of laughter coloring her tones.

Rather than dignify the quip with a reply, Minerva chose that moment to make her departure… strolling back toward the main corridor with deliberate purpose, her tail lifted proudly despite the overwhelming urge to run and hide.

If she were human, Minerva knew that she would be blushing fiercely.

"Where do you think she's going?"

Slinking into the shadows, Minerva didn't wait to hear the reply, realizing only after she had turned the corner that she still had yet to visit the kitchens.

 _Bollocks._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Thank you for the lovely feedback! Glad to know I haven't scared everyone off entirely ;)_

* * *

Hermione woke to the sound of her wand vibrating loudly on the bedside table, instantly shivering as her body was revealed to cool morning air as she silenced the noise with her hand.

A smattering of disjointed images passed through her mind as the drew herself away from a rather pleasant dream… something involving soft contours, a flash of emerald, and a wordless sense of anticipation.

Wincing slightly, she sat up… already reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of her bed as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. Glancing at the journal upon her bedside table, Hermione caught a glimpse of her timetable tucked between the pages; a nervous tremor of excitement suddenly blossomed as she realized it was Tuesday.

 _Transfiguration, first period._

Throwing back the covers Hermione padded to the window, peeking though the crimson drapes to see that while the ambient temperature seemed a bit more brisk than the day previous, the sky was free of clouds and there was a lovely sheen of mist hanging over the dark waters of the lake below.

Wispy tendrils were colored in shades of rose and lavender and suddenly Hermione was itching to step outside and be a part of the breathtaking scene.

She rushed through her ablutions quickly - pulling her curls into a high ponytail and donning a rather high-cut swimsuit before covering it with a jumper and pair of black leggings. Deciding that her goal of investigating the Room of Requirement could wait until later, Hermione tugged her trainers on and slid her wand up her sleeve.

A few minutes later she was bounding down the steps toward the main doors, smiling lightly as the staircases obliged her path with ease. True to her word, Hermione had spent the last half hour before curfew engaging in a bit of harmless play with a number of the stairs - even allowing one of the second-floor staircases to trap her in a vanishing step for a number of minutes while it had practically chuckled at her attempts to free herself - relenting only when she charmed its threadbare carpet into a pattern of garish yellow roses.

Her light steps seemed to echo throughout the stone corridors even as fine threads of sunlight began to dapple the halls in pale rays. It was invigorating to be awake before everyone else and she felt a brief stab of nostalgia at recalling her early morning runs in the warm streets of Jerusalem, the light stone echoing her steps in a familiar, friendly manner. It seemed surreal that her last one had only taken place a few days previous.

 _Time to let it go… you'll go back to visit soon._

Hermione sighed quietly, running down the last staircase in an easy, loping gait.

As she lifted her wand to open the heavy doors before her, she froze at hearing quiet footsteps to her left.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. Another morning jaunt is in order, I see?"

Professor Flitwick stood near the entrance to the Great Hall, dressed in his typical bright blue robes and wearing a warm smile that seemed rather impish. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have sworn he had been waiting for her.

"Good morning," she replied, quickly drawing herself together with practiced ease. "Yes, I thought to make a habit of training before breakfast."

"Marvelous. I take it this is a practice you developed abroad?" Professor Flitwick asked, tilting one head to the side curiously.

Hermione smiled politely, wondering if this wasn't the wizard's subtle method of extracting more information about her time in Jerusalem. She had already noted the deliberate way that her professors continued to tread around the mystery of her disappearance. Likely, it was a command that had come from the Headmistress.

 _If he's not fishing for information, then…?_

With a start, Hermione realized that the deceptively polite voice was one that Flitwick reserved for students… and with a sinking sense of resignation, she realized that she was now subject to the old rules and regulations of days past. Surely he wasn't about to admonish her, was he?

The thoughts flew through her mind in a barrage of information and Hermione blinked before answering.

"Indeed," she replied uncertainly, clasping her hands behind her back and mimicking his casual posture, "Though I imagine I will soon be looking for an alternative means of training as winter approaches."

The small wizard nodded thoughtfully and Hermione took a moment to resettle. Her memories of the old Prefect's handbook had sprung forward without effort; there were no rules barring her departure from the castle after five, so long as she remained upon the school's grounds.

"Ah, yes. The Scottish weather will undoubtedly subvert even the most well-meaning plans to pursue one's invigorating dips into nature… though I am certain that Hogwarts has means of providing whatever it is you should... _require…_ when winter finally makes it's icy presence known," Professor Flitwick replied smoothly, beginning to make his way toward the staircase off to her left.

Hermione nodded in surprise, briefly wondering if the professor meant what she thought he meant… and then she saw the subtle twinkle in the wizard's eye.

 _There's no mistaking that look…_ she'd seen that mischievous gleam reflected in her own Master's eyes for years.

"I shall have to investigate my options thoroughly it seems," Hermione replied warmly, offering a genuine smile. The professor nodded, humming lightly to himself as he began ascending the staircase. Turning over one shoulder, he offered a cheerful salute.

"Enjoy your morning, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled after him in puzzlement, wondering if the Deputy Headmaster was secretly a Legilimens or if it had been a convenient twist of fate that he simply divulged the information she had planned to seek out later.

Well... at least it appeared that she had one ally after all.

 _And now you know the Room has been restored…_

Feeling a bit bemused, Hermione continued toward the doors, breathing the fresh air deeply as the brisk morning air cut across her face.

While she didn't quite understand what the Head of Ravenclaw was up to, she had the sneaking suspicion that she would have to keep a closer eye on Professor Flitwick than even she herself realized.

* * *

"Minerva?"

"Good morning, Filius," Minerva replied distantly, in the midst of penning a letter to the Educational Offices of the ICW. The Floo had just roared to life and without looking up she knew it could only be her Deputy at the early hour.

A moment later she glanced to her left and caught the time.

 _Just after five-thirty? Merlin… what is this day about?_

"Our star pupil is engaged in her training endeavors at the moment should you wish to investigate," Filius replied airily, stepping out from the fireplace and already making a beeline for her door.

"Did you really just waltz in here to give me a play-by-play of Miss Granger's whereabouts?" Minerva asked exasperatedly, looking up just in time to catch the wizard's small chuckle.

"No. Also to tell you that I took the liberty of opening a few of your letters from last night. It seems that Augusta Longbottom and Arthur Weasley are in agreement that the witch should take over Horace's classes immediately."

"Really?" Minerva asked, sitting back in genuine surprise. Arthur Weasley was a shoo-in for Miss Granger's proposed position, but Augusta Longbottom was an unexpected supporter. Merlin knew that the elderly witch was difficult to please - she was largely the reason that Minerva had been unable to fill a second Potions position in the first place.

 _If she approves, that will sway at least four or five others on the Board for certain._

"Indeed. If Augusta's letter was any indication then I would imagine you'll be receiving additional affirmative responses from Renata, Elphias, Narcissa, and Cassius by the end of the morning," Filius replied confidently, fluffing his robes with a cheerful flourish.

"Do you really believe that Narcissa Malfoy will acquiesce to having Miss Granger on staff?" Minerva asked dubiously, lifting a careful eyebrow.

"You haven't forgotten that the witch holds a Mastery in Potions, have you?" Filius asked in surprise. "Surely she wouldn't turn down such a promising candidate for the sake of her personal feelings… especially one with Miss Granger's credentials? I know you might not _like_ the woman, but you have to admit that she's been a remarkably objective voice upon the Board compared to Lucius."

Minerva's lips thinned at that. She had _indeed_ forgotten that Narcissa Malfoy had once been a talented Mistress in her own right, though part of her still wouldn't be surprised if the woman raised some sort of obscure opposition to the idea. The witch was never one for unorthodoxy.

 _If Narcissa agrees, that only leaves two more spots open to gain a majority vote…_

"It seems Horace may get his wish after all," Minerva replied thoughtfully.

Filius chuckled again, wand waving the door open with a deft flick.

"Oh pish-posh. His desires and everyone else's at this institution. She'd be a right asset to these halls and you know it, Minerva."

Minerva's lips pressed together as she barely stifled an eyeroll. It was far too early for Filius' cheek.

"Go make yourself useful or I'll have you writing lines on the virtue of _objectivity_ ," she snapped, flinging the door closed.

There was a satisfying "oof" on the other side and Minerva swallowed a smirk before shaking her head and resettling. Her Deputy's light footsteps trickled away and she was left to her thoughts.

It seemed that events were coming together in the most unexpected of ways and fortunately, ways that simply made her job as Headmistress easier.

If only the quiet flutter in the pit of her stomach would go away.

She sighed and set aside her quill, sitting back for a moment to gaze out the windows where she could just see the treetops of the Forbidden Forest edged in gold.

A second letter lay open on her desk and while it still lay unsigned, Minerva couldn't quite bring herself to send off the inquiry to the Ministry of Magic requesting Miss Granger's most recent records. As Headmistress, investigation into the witch's inexplicable reappearance was more than logical - especially now that the young woman was up for potential hire, but considering their long history together… it didn't seem right.

 _Be patient… surely she will come to you in her own time._

Turning back to her desk, Minerva tucked the unfinished letter into the center drawer and passed a hand over her immaculate hair. Until she heard back with a preliminary decision from the Board, her letter to the Ministry could wait… and hopefully in that time the young woman would offer up an explanation to satisfy some of the mystery.

 _And not just your curiosity..._

The thought drew forth memories of the night previous and her embarrassing little slip-up in the basement corridor.

Albus had always found great amusement whenever Minerva's curiosity got the better of her - relishing in the infrequent instances in which she and her Animagus stumbled into trouble. He used to insist that she needed to follow her impulsive urges in order to balance out the high standards of control and poise that she held herself to upon a daily basis.

Pursing her lips, Minerva shook her head.

No, despite what her friend used to say... _curiosity_ continued to be one of her worst faults.

 _And you should have more sense than to transform so gratuitously in front of your students!_

She felt jumpy, anxious, and overly tired. Rising stiffly, Minerva made a quick circuit of the room before drifting over the windows to gaze down at the sun-kissed grounds below.

Perhaps an early morning walk about the lake would quell her nerves.

Her Mondays and Wednesdays were free all term and while Minerva had been granted a reprieve from teaching the day previous, her concerns regarding Miss Granger were coloring her usual preparations for the seventh year Transfiguration classes.

The night previous, she had spent several hours after her rounds revising notes and pondering through her curricula. Having a more mature witch in that class would undoubtedly challenge everyone, herself included... and for whatever reason Minerva found herself poring over her syllabus, wondering whether or not to switch up self-transformation with Transfigurative dueling, to begin with a lecture demonstration or to demand practicals on the first day back.

Realizing her thoughts were no less circuitous and irrational than they had been during the wee hours of the night, Minerva pressed a delicate hand to the bridge of her nose.

 _You have been teaching this course for over forty years_ , she thought firmly, twisting her lips and returning to her desk.

 _There is no need to change your entire methodology simply because you are concerned about the experience of one single student..._

She dipped her quill into emerald ink with renewed vigor.

She would finish the letter to the ICW and run through her seventh-year curriculum straight afterwards. Her impending first period of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors didn't need more than a half hour of her time, especially not for syllabus day.

And if the weather wasn't too brisk, then that early morning walk certainly couldn't hurt...


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione's thoughts were suspended as she sprinted the final few meters in her last circuit.

The Quidditch pitch was much bigger than she had remembered and Hermione had been rather pleased to find that the large oval circumference was similar to that of an Olympic track. It would make her workouts much easier to prepare.

Circling back to the start, her breath was coming in loud pants as she tapered off into a slow jog, sweat streaming down her bare arms, having long since removed her jumper in order to take advantage of the cool morning. Though her muscles felt like lead, she pushed herself to continue jogging across the expanse of damp green grass, moving away from the pitch and back in the direction of the lake.

Eventually she slowed to a walk and Hermione placed both hands on her head, smiling open-mouthed as she reveled in the beauty of the landscape and the way the sunshine was drenching the dark castle in bright shades of gold. A few owls were circling the glowing turrets lazily, no doubt searching for an early breakfast in the clean, refreshing air.

 _Merlin, you've missed this place..._

Shaking her head Hermione sniffed, wiping beads of sweat from her upper lip and forehead before cutting a path in front of Hagrid's hut toward the sloping lawn that would lead around the castle and back toward the boathouse. The hut's crooked chimney was smoking lightly and Hermione smiled again, again surprised at how such a simple, cheery sight could warm her heart so quickly.

She had yet to speak with Hagrid… or anyone really. Beyond the single conversation she had held with Minerva and befriending the wayward group of first-years, Hermione had been content to keep to herself.

Rationally speaking, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was forced to begin explaining her story. Already Ginny, Harry, and Ron had been clamoring for individual visits once they had learned she was returning to Great Britain for good. The Potters had taken her abrupt decision in their typical laid-back stride and Ron had written back with an overly-gallant offer of marriage if she still needed it. As he had undoubtedly planned, Hermione had laughed herself silly.

Chuckling softly, Hermione shook her head and felt her lips curve into a gentle smile as she thought of her close friends. It would be good to see them again.

Feeling a bit more rested she set off at a more sedate jog, reveling in the feel of her trainers hitting the dew-kissed grass and the way the landscape seemed to impress itself upon her - alight with the energy of morning and full of wild rugged beauty that was so completely opposite of the bustling city, ancient stone, and surrounding desert that she had so recently left.

A few minutes later, Hermione was shucking her trainers off, hissing as her bare feet met damp stone, her legs still trembling from her previous workout and the hundreds of steps she had just descended.

The dark water rippled invitingly and she quickly banished the rest of her clothes into a neat pile, taking a moment to re-tame her curls into a bun that would be less likely to interrupt her swim.

The high beams of the boathouse ceiling seemed to echo the quiet murmur of waves lapping at the narrow channel that ran at the center of the open-air building. The small wooden boats were tied off carefully, bumping against the stone siding in low hollow tones.

Hermione padded along the left side of the boathouse where a wooden dock extended a few meters into the lake. Walking out, she gazed down into the inky water as she passed, enjoying the sensuous way in which it shimmered like a dark mirror without revealing what lay beneath. The fresh smell of water and loam reached her nostrils and Hermione breathed deep, smiling as she arrived to the end and walked right up to the edge.

Spreading her arms, she grinned at the fresh feeling of freedom that flooded through her. The view across the lake was spectacular, and if she didn't look down she could almost imagine she was standing atop the water itself. Idly, Hermione wondered if there was a spell to walk on water and resolved to check in the library at a later time.

Her eyes scanned the calm surface of the lake for a moment and seeing no movement, she quickly summoned a sock and transfigured it into a pair of goggles. Again she found herself wondering if there was a spell to mimic the Muggle device, but pushed it aside as she slipped them over her head.

Treading between both feet lightly, Hermione adjusted the goggles and blinked as the world shifted into shades of blue. She tucked her wand into her suit, murmuring a quiet sticking charm so that it would remain pressed into her thigh unless needed.

Lifting her arms overhead she wrinkled her nose as both shoulders cracked, pleased however when the muscles in her back stretched deliciously. Both hands pressed together firmly and she organized her toes off the edge of the dock and bent her knees.

 _The first moment is the hardest..._

Taking a deep breath, Hermione tucked her chin and dived in.

* * *

"Well, Miss Granger… it seems you've an early start on the day."

The low contralto purr caused Hermione to lift an eyebrow and she turned slowly, already amused and curious as to why her visitor had ventured all the way down to the boathouse. She was sitting on the end of the dock, toes still dangling in the water after an invigorating swim. The sun had risen a bit and the light rays were warming her skin as she squeezed water out of her hair.

"Madam Hooch," Hermione replied evenly, surprised but unwilling to betray her curiosity at the unexpected visitor. "Good morning."

The witch in question was walking toward her, dressed in the heavy teaching robes that Hermione remembered from flying classes. Her trademark silver hair appeared nearly white in the sunshine and a smirk was lingering on the woman's lips. She strode along the dock lazily, hands tucked somewhere out of sight beneath billowing navy robes. Yellow eyes were gazing off into the distance in a casual way that seemed to suggest that she had all the time in the world.

Hermione was tempted to chuckle.

"Rolanda, please," the witch replied, stepping closer… her polished boots echoing on the worn wood quietly as the vibrations resonated beneath Hermione's thighs. "It seems a grievous shame to have a full-grown witch address me with perfunctory rituals best left to youth when we no longer cross paths in classes. Especially a witch who once fought at my side."

Yellow eyes were warm and Rolanda extended a leather gloved hand to help her up as Hermione rose, shivering lightly as residual water droplets streamed down her body.

"Hermione, then," she replied, withdrawing her wand and summoning her towel with a genuine smile. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise. I saw you leaving the pitch this morning and I confess I was curious," Rolanda said, lifting a brow as she gestured with a hand, seeming to indicate that walking down hundreds of steps in search of the answer had been the most logical course of action. _Curious, indeed._

Hermione lifted a disbelieving brow and chuckled lightly as she squeezed a bit more moisture from her hair.

"Somehow I never would have imagined you to be a morning person," she replied, pleased when Rolanda chuckled and shook her head.

"No doubt you remember my fondness for late mornings from that summer following the Final Battle," she said, lips curling into a half smile as she gazed out over the lake. "However during the school year I endeavor to keep a strict training regimen for myself… which is why I was impressed by witnessing your own circuits. I daresay you've learned quite a lot in your time abroad."

Hermione shrugged lightly, choosing to sidestep the question as she wiped the towel over her legs absently. The action allowed her to keep her expression hidden as she thought for a moment.

"A routine I began in the last several years. No doubt you agree that magical strength can grow in potency alongside careful physical practice," she replied, finishing and draping the towel over her shoulders as the older witch's eyes narrowed.

"What's your poison?" Rolanda asked, stepping back to accommodate her as they moved slowly back toward the boathouse.

"I prefer a combination of running, weight-training, and yoga here and there," Hermione replied, a bit curious to see what the other witch would say. There was a thoughtful hum and she gathered that Rolanda was impressed, "Swimming... obviously. And you?"

"Weight training mostly… interspersed with a bit of HIIT. And a good amount of flying... obviously _._ "

The witch's contralto tones were throatier than she remembered, catching in a way that Hermione found compelling if also a bit unnerving. The older woman followed her along the stone pathway as she retrieved her clothes, quickly murmuring a drying spell and pulling on her leggings.

"So where do you train?" Hermione asked, turning slightly so that she could face the witch, even as the task proved less elegant than she desired. One leg got stuck in the tight fabric and Hermione had to bend over to tug at it. Rolanda was gazing toward the boats politely, backlit by the rising gleam off the surface of the lake. "I love to be outdoors, but I suppose I will have to rely upon the Room of Requirement as the weather changes."

The witch listened thoughtfully, eventually looking over as Hermione deftly tied her jumper around her waist… distantly aware that her nipples were poking through the thin swimsuit in the chill.

"My dear Hermione, you don't think I would have stayed for this many years if they forced me back into the castle with the first snow? No, no…" Rolanda grinned and waved a hand, following as Hermione moved toward the back exit.

"I'm not surprised you've never noticed, but I keep a small gym behind the north side of the Quidditch pitch, attached to the broom closets. Only the Quidditch captains have regular access and full teams are limited to evenings only."

Hermione listened with interest as they began ascending the uneven stone steps back up toward the castle already adjusting her breath so that she wouldn't be huffing and puffing near the top. _Especially not next to Hooch._

A moment later Rolanda extended the invitation she had hoped, moving to walk alongside her - one voluminous sleeve brushing her bare arm gently.

"You are welcome to use it, of course… though I freely admit that am not enough of a morning person to rise to your arse-crack-of-dawn challenge. I take my workouts after lunch or mid-morning on weekends."

The expletive was amusing and Hermione smiled at that, pleased by the offer and additionally interested to be talking to someone who could appreciate her newer love of physical training. Perhaps she wouldn't be quite so alone at Hogwarts as she had assumed.

"That's very generous of you, Rolanda… I should very much like to take you up on that," she replied warmly, earning a pleased smile from the witch.

A moment later they launched into a discussion about HIIT training which Hermione had heard of but never studied. The ascent of the stone steps seemed to pass rather quickly and Hermione was surprised at how knowledgeable and gregarious the other witch was… and pleased to discover that her earlier predictions of the woman's wit were proven quickly.

Hooch was sharp - quick to serve a biting jab against other instructors or methods of training that she found lacking, ready with a deadpan or barb whenever Hermione took too long to answer. She found herself conversing with interest. Never would she have imagined to be speaking to her former flying instructor so casually and she was additionally surprised to discover how earnestly she enjoyed the woman's company.

They arrived to the flat stone path winding back toward the main doors and Hermione felt invigorated and energized by both the walk and the conversation.

Rolanda was explaining the particulars of using the gym along with the equipment that would be available to her. Hermione would be free to access it anytime between five in the morning and noon during weekdays, though she was also invited to train with Rolanda herself on Mondays and Wednesdays around one, provided her schedule continued to allow it.

Hermione felt curiously appreciative - it was the second time that morning her needs had been anticipated and fulfilled without having required any action on her part. _When one door closes…_

Another whimsical thought occurred as they strode toward the doors, Hermione quickly zipping up her jumper for modesty as she imagined some of the more enterprising students might be on their way to breakfast.

"I have another request, actually… though I admit this is an embarrassing one," she said, biting her lip even as Rolanda's eyebrows rose.

"Lay it on me."

Hermione sniffed at the confident colloquialism and shook her head gently.

"May I be honest with you for a moment?" she asked, feeling a tendril of insecurity wind its way across her shoulders. They paused midway up the steps and a curious expression passed over Rolanda's face and she squinted into the rising sun for a long moment before answering.

"Hermione… I didn't venture all the way down to the boathouse to simply check on a wayward student," Roland replied, her voice low. "I also don't need to hear the particulars of your adventures away from Great Britain since it seems clear you are not ready to talk about them. I simply thought that perhaps… you might be in need of a friend."

Bright yellow eyes landed upon her face and softened and Hermione was surprised to feel a wave of emotion rise up through her chest as she stepped back in surprise.

"Wow - I, um… thank you," she replied softly, cheeks flushing slightly as she stumbled over her words. A moment later she covered her embarrassment by squaring her shoulders, not wanting to reveal just how appreciative she was at the elder witch's unexpected kindness.

"Well… in that case, I imagine that my time at Hogwarts might be a bit freer than the average seventh-year's," Hermione continued, swallowing her own smile when Rolanda merely smirked in response. Tugging on her jumper, she pushed forward. "In addition to being curious about HIIT training… I was wondering if you would help me with a few flying lessons?"

"That _is_ what they hired me for," Rolanda replied dryly, one eyebrow lifting as Hermione chuckled. A moment later she smiled broadly, inclining her chin toward Hermione gently.

"I would be happy to assist you, Hermione," she replied. "Though I suppose my pride _should_ be wounded seeing as the brightest witch of her age has been besmirching my good name with her abysmal broomwork."

"A _real_ friend wouldn't complain."

Rolanda guffawed at that and Hermione smiled broadly in response - surprised, once again, at how quickly she had warmed up to the woman standing next to her. It felt good to laugh.

"I assure you that my irrational fear of heights is little reflection of your teachings skills," she continued, earning a slight eye roll and pleased smile. "More to the point, I'm not suggesting I'm as dreadful as I was before… though I admit there's certainly much to be desired."

"Hmm. A most amusing challenge, I'm sure," Rolanda replied teasingly, one eye narrowing as she gave Hermione a theatrical once over. "Still… you don't look like much. I suppose ol' RoHo can handle a few remedial lessons."

Hermione dissolved into laughter again, shaking her head.

 _Merlin, of all the unexpected people!_

They were still chuckling quietly when a familiar lilting voice brought them up short.

"Rolanda… Miss Granger."

Hermione turned to see the Headmistress ascending the steps behind them, her emerald robes fairly glowing in the bright sunshine.

The echo of her laughter seemed to fade and her breath caught for a moment as the witch lifted her focus toward the two of them, a polite smile lingering around the corners of her mouth as she drew closer, long fingers lifting her robes away from the stone steps.

The willowy figure seemed much more delicate than usual, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that the witch had forgone the heavy outer robes she usually donned while teaching. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the sweeping curves and barest hint of pale skin peeking out from the woman's pressed collar.

Wetting her lips unconsciously, Hermione resettled into a neutral posture with hands clasped behind her back.

"Good morning, Minerva. It seems my day is destined to be full of early risers," Rolanda said by way of greeting, eliciting a small smile from Hermione. Minerva continued walking, one eyebrow rising slightly.

"With your habits, I daresay you'll be reliving the shock until noon," Minerva replied, her careful expression somehow managing to convey disapproval.

"Oh! You wound me," Rolanda said, striking a camel-colored glove to her chest. "Though the added hours of rest undoubtedly contribute to my lusty good looks."

The flying instructor waggled her eyebrows dramatically and Hermione chose to shift her attention to the Headmistress, lest she break the moment with her laughter. The trademark eyebrow had resettled into what Hermione recognized as a deceptively calm expression, and Minerva dropped her focus as she ascended the last few steps.

"A modest witch indeed," Minerva replied dryly before smiling at Rolanda, her eyes slanting closed as she drew even upon the stairs with them. The patrician chin lifted by the barest of millimeters, "... with much to be modest about."

If anything, Rolanda's grin seemed to widen at the subtle dig and she set her hands on her hips, robes catching the breeze slightly as one knee-high boot snuck out to vamp. Hermione held her breath, not wanting to disturb what promised to be a delightful battle of wits.

"Not all of us feel the need to envelop ourselves in emerald while refusing every cause to mail the package. Perhaps the goods are a bit… dated?"

"If looks could kill, Rolanda, you'd soon find out that yours couldn't."

Hermione wasn't sure whether or not to laugh or draw back, noting how both pairs of eyes were

flashing rather brightly.

"Careful, Minerva… that sounded like an insult worthy of this century."

"Chasing the follies of students is hardly becoming of someone of your... _venerable_ stature."

"Lashing out at my youth, then? I seem to recall a certain raven-haired slip of a girl… oh wait, I don't. Only her grandmother. 1935 was clearly before-"

"Rolanda!"

"Both of you, stop it," Hermione interjected smoothly, arriving to a bold decision as she held up a hand. "Here I stand, graced by two noteworthy witches of significant power and beauty… hasn't anyone informed you that age is but a number?"

She paused, cutting between both witches as she ascended a few more steps to look over one shoulder.

"At the moment however, I seem to be rubbing elbows with two ten-year olds. As such, I think it's time to take my leave lest I step on someone's toy… Good morning to you both."

There was a delicious moment of silence as both witches absorbed her cheek - Rolanda with an open-mouthed grin of disbelief, and the Headmistress with wide-eyed shock before Hermione turned smoothly, jogging up the last few stairs and wordlessly opening the main doors without breaking a step.

A blanket of satisfaction had settled upon her shoulders and Hermione took a moment to revel in the furious whispers that faded behind her as she crossed the polished marble floors.

The lioness within her preened.


	13. Chapter 13

Percy Weasley sighed as he stalked back toward his office with a purposeful gait.

His meeting with the Ministry's Census Bureau had run over by thirty minutes leaving him far less time for lunch than he desired.

He had the quarter of an hour to regroup and then the afternoon promised a long review session with his entire department to consider the Wizengamot's upcoming ruling for witches and wizards below the age of thirty-five. While his private thoughts upon the matter diverged from the official Ministry perspective, professionally, he also found himself hoping that the ruling wouldn't pass…

The thought of redoing months of figures and projections, reprinting public information, and pulling individual files for delinquency notifications sounded like a complete nightmare.

Sighing, Percy gave a half-hearted wave toward Iphigenia of Floo Regulation before ducking under a construction platform and heading for the corridor that housed his departmental offices. Even four years later, they were still patching up parts of the Ministry that had suffered damages during Voldemort's incursion.

Following the War, he had been incredibly thankful to receive the transfer and subsequent headship of the Ministry's Registry Department.

For the most part, it was a pleasant appointment.

He was the first to be notified of blossoming relationships and marriages - offering the Ministry's congratulations upon a new engagement or marriage license, along with a user-friendly packet of information that introduced new couples to the host of incentives and fertility options available to them for the subsequent months. He had also instituted a cheerful celebration system that sent a shower of either pink or blue stars across the department's ceiling whenever a new birth was to be recorded… and being able to witness the gradual rebuild of their nation's population was a process he greatly looked forward to experiencing.

Still, the position was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing in the sense of remaining a part of Kingsley's new government while a majority of his former colleagues had been ousted from their posts within the first year. Curse in the sense that he was continually reminded of how lucky he was to be a part of the workforce considering the stacked evidence of his blindsighted loyalty to the Ministry's rule beneath Fudge and Scrimgeour.

It was, of course, a deliberate nod to his parents and siblings for the hard work they had put in with the Order… and while he was immeasurably thankful for Kingsley's consideration, Percy knew that the road toward redemption would be long and hard.

Even now, the memory of his family's acceptance still rang with the bittersweet notes of guilt and relief… in the aftermath of the Final Battle, just as his younger brother had been laid to rest in their family plot, he had approached the estranged Weasley clan with uncertainty and a thin tendril of hope. And in typical all-or-nothing fashion, they had simply taken one look at him and opened their arms without so much as a comment or snarky joke from any one of his siblings.

In that moment, Percy had known that nothing would ever draw his loyalty away from his family again. They had raised him with nothing but love and respect… and the time had come for him to atone for his sins.

Turning into the brightly lit hall of the Registry, Percy reached out to accept a note from his newest secretary - a bright young man named Winters, if he recalled correctly. His usual secretary, Lucrezia, had just begun her maternity leave and they were all waiting anxiously for notification of the child's birth.

Percy made to slip the note into his pocket when he noticed that the young wizard appeared to be wringing his hands slightly. He lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm to inform you that-"

"The Minister is here to see you."

They both turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt striding through the department doors with a quirked brow and polite smile. Winters shrank back with flushed cheeks even as Percy lifted a hand in greeting.

"Good morning, Minister," Percy replied automatically, gesturing toward his office in surprise. "What can I do for you?"

Shacklebolt did not reply, choosing instead to make a direct path for the Head's office without so much as a glance at the curious faces throughout the hall.

Percy buried all thoughts of his roast beef sandwich as they strode into his small office, the taller wizard waving the door shut with an absent flick of his wand. He made for his desk, feeling an uncomfortable flip-flopping sensation in his stomach as he wondered what the Minister could possibly need of him that demanded an in-person inquiry.

 _Perhaps he was just passing by..._

The tall wizard chose to remain standing in front of Percy's desk, waiting with clasped hands as Percy hurriedly cleared the desktop with a flick of his wand.

"I need you to requisition the private records of Minerva McGonagall," Shacklebolt said in a low voice.

The words "of course" had been about to fall from his lips when the name finally registered and Percy did a double take as he rounded his desk, mid-way to reaching for spare bit of parchment.

His confusion must have registered because in the next moment, Shacklebolt was fixing him with a stern glare.

"Do as I say, Percy," the Minister replied gruffly. "The matter of her delinquent status is as equally concerning to your offices as it is to the Wizengamot."

A number of questions sprang to mind, but from Shacklebolt's expression, now was not the time to ask them.

Closing his mouth, Percy nodded swiftly and hailed for Mr. Winters through the frosted glass windows. The young man bounded through the doors a moment later, parchment at the ready and it was clear that he was jumping for an opportunity to impress the Minister himself.

 _Be careful, O seeker… Opportunity comes and goes on tiptoe_...

Percy squared his shoulders and did his best to appear as though the request had not unnerved him entirely.

"Mr. Winters, please head over to Section 32B and pull all of the contents from File #3487. You'll need to prepare it for immediate extraction and perusal," he turned to the Minister, "I'll have it waiting on your desk by the time you return upstairs."

Shacklebolt stroked his goatee, chin poised as if he wanted to say something, but then… the moment passed. If the Minister was impressed with his ability to recall an individual file from the thousands housed within the Registry, he did not show it.

"Very good, Weasley."

His mission accomplished, the Minister offered a courteous nod to the two of them and swept from the small room in a flourish of purple robes without so much as a half-hearted explanation.

Predictably, Percy found himself swallowing his disappointment with an inaudible sigh. The Minister had yet to call him by first name despite continuing to address his parents and siblings with casual regard. The man had even sat next to him at The Burrow last Sunday dinner, for gods' sake!

Watching the Minister depart his office, Percy shook his head before noticing that his secretary was still standing beside the door uncertainly.

"Mr. Weasley, isn't file #3487-"

"Yes, Mr. Winters, it is" Percy replied tiredly, holding up a hand before the young man could ask his question.

Inwardly he was a bit impressed that the young man had already memorized the smattering of flagged files - the majority of which were high-profile cases given "special consideration" for which there was typically a separate process for extraction and perusal.

"However what the Minister asks for, we provide without question," he continued, sitting heavily at his desk, "Please fetch them at once."

The young wizard gave a smart nod and turned on his heel before striding away, robes snapping in his haste to carry out his task.

A moment later, Percy was left alone in blissful silence.

His previous appetite disrupted, Percy couldn't help but feel a sinking sense of worry as he mulled over the Minister's unexpected request.

The Headmistress' file was all but flagged to be untouchable… and while he knew without looking that Minerva McGonagall had absolutely _no_ intention of following through with the Ministry's new marriage initiatives, privately he felt that there were plenty of other cases and citizens to consider in the meantime.

The privilege of having glanced through her file _once_ had revealed to him that the witch in question had already paid her dues to the nation several times over. And while he _also_ knew that the Headmistress and Minister were close friends… previous experience had taught him that no matter what personal narrative existed between those two prominent offices, the Ministry would _always_ perceive to Hogwarts as a proverbial thorn in its side; the venerable institution had a reputation for charismatic leaders with a history of social and political involvement… sometimes to the detriment of the national voice.

 _Still… discussion and dissonance is what creates a strong democracy…_

Running a hand over his hair, (it was getting far too long… he would have to ask Penny for a trim later in the week), Percy sat forward and pulled out a stray scrap of parchment.

Against his better judgment he scribbled a quick note and flicked his wand, folding it into an unobtrusive little message that would hopefully be disregarded until it landed into the right hands.

His father would know what to do.

The little paper airplane zoomed away and Percy sat back, all thoughts of lunch forgotten as he wrestled with his inner demons for another long moment.

The rulings of the Wizengamot had been growing more and more severe over the past several months, and while it was Percy's task to see that the new system of "single's penalties" was being applied judiciously, there had been more than one interaction with individual citizens which had left him feeling decidedly off-balance.

Of course, population decline was a very real concern that continued to press in against all of them…

 _But if we are to restrict the individual freedoms of our citizens… how are we any better than the system we just left?_

Percy shook his head and fished his lunch from his briefcase with little enthusiasm.

If the Minister learned of his tip-off, he could very well lose his job.

On the other hand, he couldn't stand back and watch the Wizengamot rope another unsuspecting citizen into an undesired set of life circumstances.

Especially not Minerva McGonagall.

 _Damned if I do, damned if I don't._

* * *

Minerva fumed silently.

Stalking into the Great Hall she swept behind the High Table to take the center seat, pulling it aside roughly and settling her robes in a steadying gesture.

"Nothing like fresh air…"

Refusing to rise to Filius' open-ended statement, Minerva snatched up two pieces of toast and glared down at her plate.

"Come now, Minerva, you haven't had a good spar with Rolanda in weeks," Filius murmured appeasingly.

"I allowed myself to lose my temper in front of a student," she ground out, buttering her toast with more vehemence than necessary. Pomona's unhelpful little chuckle only served to make her more irate.

"Oh please. You aren't really going to devalue Hermione to such a simple label," Filius scoffed.

" _Miss Granger_ is a student within these Halls -" she began firmly, annoyed that she was constantly rehashing such a critically obvious point to the Head of Ravenclaw, of all people.

"Not anymore," Pomona hummed happily, giving a pleasant little lift of her shoulders. She winked at Minerva cheerfully.

"Let the joyous news be spread, the Potions department has moved ahead!" Filius announced, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and reclining back in an obvious gesture of satisfaction.

"A terrible rhyme, even for you, Filius," Minerva snapped irritably even as she absorbed that bit of knowledge with a strange flip-flopping sensation in her stomach.

 _It seems more letters from the Board must have arrived._

"I liked it," Pomona piped in diplomatically, eliciting a snort from Neville who leaned forward, shaking his head even as he pinned Minerva with a sincere gaze.

"Please, Minerva… as surely as I am no longer your student, neither is Hermione," he said kindly, meeting her raised eyebrow and stern expression with a steady smile. Her ego folded at that slightly.

 _There was a time I could render him into a shivering mess by simply turning a corner._

She frowned.

"By that I _mean_ that she is on your roster, yes… but the witch is a fully-fledged _Master,_ Minerva. Regardless of her reappearance at Hogwarts, to see her as anything less is an insult to her title," Neville's smile grew sly, "Besides, she will hardly begrudge the fact that you're human and easily riled into a good round of verbal sparring. As I seem to recall, the two of you used to enjoy it together."

Minerva bit her lip fiercely, determined not to blush as her mind unexpectedly imbued the wizard's last statement with innuendo.

"Moreover, you're probably one of the few people around here… except for a select few at this table with whom she will be comfortable rekindling friendship. You would be doing her a kindness by treating her as more than just another seventh-year. Which she _is_."

Minerva's jaw worked as she stared at Neville for a long moment, drinking in his beseeching expression and the hopeful ones of Filius and Pomona.

"That's beside the point," she retorted. "So long as she remains a student enrolled at this institution, I cannot treat her any differently… regardless of any additional duties and responsibilities she may incur."

The three faces to her left exchanged a series of long-suffering looks before rising together and pinning her with matching raised eyebrows of disapproval. Minerva frowned, immediately annoyed by their choreographed gesture of solidarity.

She ignored their mutters as they left, watching as Neville fairly bent over at the waist to listen to whatever Pomona was saying. The sight of the tall wizard and his diminutive Mistress was enough to make Minerva smile softly and she shook her head. _Incorrigible._

 _Speaking of Masters and Mistresses…_

If Filius' slip was any indication, there was a great amount of work awaiting her toward crafting an appropriate contract for Miss Granger.

While Minerva realized she was more than pleased that the Board had acquiesced so quickly… _and with obvious gusto._.. inwardly she groaned at the extensive amount of work it would entail to draft an agreement that would protect both the witch and the school from prying eyes… along with negotiating the particulars of salary, budget projections, not to mention reworking the blasted timetable.

 _Again._

A quick tempus indicated that the hour was drawing close to eight and Minerva sighed, glancing up to see that a number of students were beginning to fill the tables. _Some thoughts are best left for later._

She would finish her toast and then depart. Minerva wanted at least forty minutes of time before her first class.

As her thoughts shifted toward the coming day, Minerva almost missed a familiar platinum-haired wizard sliding down a few seats to draw closer to her.

"Headmistress," Draco said smoothly, eyes focused somewhere between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

"Draco," she replied quietly, scanning the room for a moment before turning back to her plate. "How many times must I cajole you into calling me by my name?"

"At least several more times, Headmistress" he murmured, seemingly content to slice his sausage into neat pieces. Minerva sniffed and sighed.

They sat for a moment, each busy with their respective meals before a niggle of suspicion flooded through her.

"Do I take your presence to indicate you are in agreement with the trio of musketeers that just departed?" Minerva asked quietly, slicing her grilled tomatoes with deliberate strokes.

She felt Draco look at her quizzically.

"Nevermind," Minerva said quickly, nearly rolling her eyes as she recalled just whom she was speaking with; the Muggle reference was clearly wasted upon him.

"To answer your question, no, I am not in agreement," Draco said after a moment.

"Then I should find your company tolerable."

Draco chuckled lightly. He moved to rise a moment later and Minerva followed his gaze, impressed as two upperclassmen at the Ravenclaw table broke apart with matching guilty expressions. A moment later they rose quickly and hurried from the Hall as Draco sat back with a smirk of satisfaction.

 _He's clearly taking up Severus' mantle..._

Draco chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he glanced toward her. He murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "You Gryffindors."

They sat in silence for a moment, both gazing out across the large room, watching the sleepy faces scattered across the four tables. Minerva noted that the witch of whom they were speaking had yet to make her appearance.

"Unlike my esteemed colleagues, I do not believe you need to make allowances for Master Granger's reappearance at Hogwarts, nor do I believe she would ever ask it of you," Draco said softly, turning to gaze at her with an impenetrable expression.

"How you choose to address her in the coming months is your business and I imagine she will respect your authority and decisions regardless."

Minerva was disgruntled to discover that despite his agreeing with her, Draco's words did not manage to reassure her in any significant way.

"That said, Master Granger is your equal in many ways, Headmistress," he continued casually, as if they were speaking about something as innocuous as the weather. "Though her robes may indicate otherwise, she is not a witch to be trifled with… and I suggest you tread carefully."

Her brows drew together.

"Do I discern a note of warning in your words?" Minerva asked in disbelief.

 _Where is he going with all of this?_

"Yes and no," Draco replied, his expression open and honest as he gazed back at her unflinchingly. "It's no secret that Master Granger could sit her N.E.W.T.s tomorrow - blindfolded, wand tied behind her back, drunk to all hell on Firewhiskey, and _still_ earn a higher grade than most our graduating seventh-years..."

Minerva bit back an unladylike snort as Draco gave her a knowing look.

"... Which then tells us that her reasoning for returning to Hogwarts is likely beyond her control," Draco continued, folding his napkin carefully, "Surely you've heard whispers of the Wizengamot's next ruling?"

"The witch has a Mastery, Draco - I hardly believe the Ministry is willing to wage war against the Potions Society regarding any sort of delinquent credentials-" she began, unwilling to see the sketches of conspiracy without evidence.

"With all due respect, Headmistress, don't be naïve. You know as well as I that those of us in the public eye have a far different rules from the rest of the population," Draco interrupted swiftly, his jaw working briefly. "Some of us know it all too well…"

Minerva remained silent, her expression reserved as she considered the young wizard's dark words. Despite her irritation with the entire situation and largely _herself_ for not knowing how to redraw her boundaries where Miss Granger was concerned, Draco's logic did make sense.

A ripple of unease passed over her.

 _Perhaps a letter to Kingsley should replace the one you intended to send to the Ministry..._

"And while I imagine this is not news to you by any means, I am reasonably assured that Master Granger's intentions extend beyond what you and I can currently fathom. She was never one to take institutionalized prejudice sitting down, and at the moment I see no _logical_ reason as to why she should have re-enrolled at Hogwarts at all."

Draco sniffed slightly as he gazed out across the room with the distant ghost of a smile.

"No doubt she is here to surprise all of us."

Minerva was surprised to hear the young wizard speak of Miss Granger with… _is that a tone of fondness?_ And his continued use of her title spoke volumes about his impressions of her professionally...

However before she could formulate a reply, Draco turned and offered her a rather warm smile.

"Don't underestimate Master Granger, Minerva… though either way, I believe she will managed to delight you. As always, it's up to you how to proceed against her unpredictability."

Briefly she noted it was one of a handful of times Draco had ever addressed her by name and while her mind attempted to unravel his maddeningly cryptic words, Minerva found herself glancing up in surprise as she realized the wizard had risen. He stepped back from his chair elegantly before pressing it back into place.

"A good morning to you, Headmistress," he said, giving her a curt nod.

A moment later Draco was striding across the Hall, robes billowing behind him in a manner that would have made his godfather proud. The Slytherin table visibly perked up as he passed and Minerva smiled as a number of students gazed after him with wistful expressions.

 _Good. He deserves a bit of admiration._

Minerva sat back slightly, hands falling away from the table for a moment as she mused over the strange conversation that had just occurred.

Though she was known for being a witch of great intelligence and reason, Minerva acknowledged that the more subtle methods and cunning of Slytherin did not come naturally to her.

Unlike Albus, who had reveled in the chase for obscure information, politics was a realm for which she harbored great distaste, and despite keeping up to date with the Ministry's initiatives, Minerva preferred to keep her activities limited to the scope of the school.

Shaking her head, she vanished her plate with an impatient flick.

Draco's deliberate crafting of words would need to be reviewed at a later time.

With a sigh, Minerva rose carefully, pleased when more than a few of the younger faces looked up at her with poorly concealed expressions of intimidation and awe.

 _Well at least_ _ **some**_ _are still impressed by me._

Gliding around the High Table, she nodded politely toward Septima and Horace who were still conversing down at the other end. Rolanda tossed her a saucy smirk and Minerva fought not to react, already plotting revenge for the witch's earlier offense. While the woman was indeed her good friend, she could not allow her to think that she had won.

Shuttling her mischievous thoughts to one side, Minerva strolled down the center aisle and departed the Great Hall in a flourish of emerald green. She sniffed at realizing that she'd only been awake for little over three hours and already felt tired by the amount of activity she had endured.

Shaking her head, Minerva began the familiar journey toward the Transfiguration wing.

 _It's been a most unexpected morning._


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: I apologize for my lack of usual updates. I confess I've started writing a rather odd crossover piece that has suddenly demanded more time and research. It seems I am incapable of writing anything short. Dear me...  
_

 _Anyway, I'm coming around the bend and hope to get back on track with all my stories soon! Thank you for your patience!_  
 _-R_

* * *

The vegetarian omelette and small Israeli salad were exactly what Hermione needed and she tucked into her breakfast with enthusiasm, making a note to send Ptolemy and Bijou a fervent thank-you after Transfiguration. She drizzled a liberal amount of tahini over the salad, earning few wrinkled noses from the group of fourth-years sitting next to her, but Hermione simply met their eyes with impassive silence until they looked away.

That Gryffindor arrogance would soon improve if she had any say in it.

By the time she had arrived to the Great Hall, only a few professors were lingering at the High Table, though Rolanda shot her subtle look with raised eyebrows that she took to indicate the elder witch approved of her earlier exit and had found it amusing. The Headmistress's absence was not surprising - Hermione imagined that the witch would have eaten quickly (if at all), and left to prepare before her classes.

Smiling softly to herself, Hermione pulled her books from within her satchel and revised them quickly. Self-transfiguration was not one of her strongest areas of study, though she had already learned and utilized a number of the simpler enchantments… during the past year in particular.

 _Talia would be rolling with laughter at this…_

The thought of her former Master filled her with a melancholy warmth and Hermione shook her head lightly, ignoring a boisterous group of seventh-year boys who settled close as the fourth-years next to her took their leave. She felt her body tense at recognizing the trio - while she hadn't been officially introduced, Hermione had already seen a few lecherous looks and haughty expressions in the Common Room… she suddenly didn't look forward to sharing their presence.

"Look look… the brainiac is already studying!"

"Whatever, she's been out of school for four years… I'd imagine a drop-out like her needs to read everything she can get."

Hermione pursed her lips and turned a page quietly, instantly reminded of how idiotic young men could be. Their hissed whispers were far from subtle.

"You're just being an arse 'coz you fancy her!"

"Do not!"

"Stop being fuckwits both of you. She's getting a head start on us… which, if either of you had seen the Headmistress' face earlier, you would be too. Ol' McG looked to be in a right state of it when I passed her on me way down 'ere."

Hermione waited until the boys finished their grumbling before casting a curious glance at the third wizard. The young man had sandy brown hair and intelligent blue eyes and looked only slightly less rumpled than the other two. She noted the askew ties and wrinkled clothes and hid a smile, knowing that they would have a rather irate Headmistress to answer to if they didn't get their act together.

She paused before turning away, managing to lock eyes with the last boy. He flushed lightly as Hermione simply stared, wondering what to make of him and his companions. To be honest, she hadn't given much thought to interacting with her new peers and the idea of trying to fit in with the rest of the Gryffindor seventh-years seemed strange and perhaps a little pathetic.

 _You have friends in other places… you'll just have to work a bit harder to stay balanced._

Her earlier encounter with Professor Flitwick jumped to mind and Hermione paused for a moment, wondering just who else within Hogwarts' venerable halls would potentially be amenable to bending the boundaries on her behalf. Rolanda and Slughorn were now in her court and Neville was already a given. That made three allies and while Professors Vector and Flitwick would have a bit more conflict of interest, Hermione imagined she could develop a rapport similar to the one she had enjoyed with her own Master.

Fond professionalism.

 _And then there's the Headmistress..._

Several emotions vied for expression and Hermione elected to shuttle them away until she could sift through them in private. A moment later she returned to her book, skipping ahead to read a few notes she had penned in the margins.

The upcoming class would undoubtedly be interesting for a multitude of reasons.

Checking the time, Hermione saw that she still had a good fifteen minutes, though she had already made the conscious decision not to make it there too early. She had always been the first to arrive and the last to leave in her previous years but she knew that all of her old habits would have to be broken in order for the Headmistress to begin seeing her in a new light.

Especially if she had any hopes of achieving her loosely lain plan.

She was not the same Hermione Granger as the young witch who had left right after the War.

Older, yes. More seasoned, yes. And she would have liked to think that she was a bit wiser and a bit more learned in the subtle art of achieving one's goals, however improbable.

Packing her things, Hermione swept to her feet, lifting her satchel over one shoulder easily before murmuring a spell to adjust her robes to crisp perfection.

 _The wandless magic is something you must watch. Not everyone needs to know what skills you've acquired over the years..._

Breezing past the boisterous trio of her soon-to-be classmates, Hermione departed the Hall quickly, thoughts suspended somewhat as her heeled boots effortlessly carried her in the direction of the Transfiguration wing. The one wizard's comment about the Headmistress' expression had seemed curious and she briefly wondered if her earlier teasing had been taken too much to heart.

 _Nonsense, Minerva always loved having a good battle of wits._

Hermione shook her head slightly, quickly admonishing herself for slipping up and using the witch's given name.

Despite her outburst in the Headmistress' office on Sunday evening, she flushed as her thoughts took an unexpected dip into the personal… a bit embarrassed as she recalled how easily those precious three syllables had slipped from her lips despite never having been given the official blessing from the witch herself.

 _Some matters must be earned..._

Hermione slowed as a breath of fresh air spilled across her face, enjoying the familiar smells of the Middle Courtyard and distant scents of autumn. A few seventh-year Ravenclaws were chatting amicably on the lawn and she idly recalled that her upcoming class was to be shared with the other House.

Rather than continuing straight to the classroom, Hermione chose to step out from the covered walkway and cut an ambling path across the courtyard, folding her hands behind her back and turning her face up to the sunshine. Again she found herself ignoring quiet whispers from across the way, taking a moment to recall the many times she had breathed in the same scents in previous years and marveling at how quickly the familiar feeling of excitement bubbled within her.

Transfiguration had always been her first love.

The complex nature of the magic had thrilled her in a manner that no other discipline could quite conjure. The heady feeling of causing one thing to become something else entirely felt completely _magical_ in a way that had constantly appealed to her Muggle upbringing. It was just so satisfying... and Hermione knew it was a discipline to which she could easily devote the rest of her life.

Potions had become her second love and Hermione knew that she had chosen her Mastery not for a secret underlying passion, but because it had once been the opposite of her passion - in fact, a subject she had rather despised. Fortunately, her Master had been incredibly patient and unique… appealing to Hermione's love of complexity while also introducing her to the entirely different world of the senses.

Potions was gritty, messy, wonderful, and unpredictable in ways that challenged her intellect, yes - but completely unlike the battle of mind over magic that Hermione felt she experienced with Transfiguration alone. Bending energy and matter to transform itself into something else was a complete power trip. Bending ingredients and coaxing them into a carefully blended assemblage was provocative and stimulating… but less of a strain upon her actual magical abilities.

Smiling to herself, Hermione mused at how much her perspectives on both disciplines had changed... Potions had risen in her regard to become a discipline that she loved and valued immensely, while Transfiguration had been carefully nurtured, yes... but with a purposefully indirect approach that only continued to tease and torment her with its elusive secrets.

It had always been her intention to pursue a second Mastery… and despite the cajoling of her own Master, who knew of her natural affinity and whose brother had come from one of the most noble and ancient lineages of Transfiguration Masteries in the world… Hermione had never been able to bring herself to consider anyone except her former mentor.

Kicking a boot absently, Hermione bit her lip as she continued to spiral through thoughts of one of her deepest desires… one that she could scarcely admit to herself, and one that had taken several shots of Arak before her Master had been unable to uncover the source of her extreme reluctance to simply move to the Sahara and get started on her Transfiguration Mastery with the _other_ Master Abraham.

Admittedly, she knew little about the Transfiguration Society itself beyond small snippets she had learned during her time in Jerusalem, though as she suspected, her desire had immediately been bolstered in discovering that "Minerva McGonagall" was a whispered name that garnered instant respect - even throughout the more obscure corners of the Middle East.

At the moment, apprenticing beneath the Headmistress seemed a rather far-fetched concept given the complex nature of the witch's current post, but Hermione continued to hold out a flicker of hope.

She, if anyone had a reasonable chance at catching the witch's attentions.

When it came to Transfiguration, Hermione had always achieved top marks in the subject, and she could only hope that her newfound knowledge and skills would be enough of a confirmation to prove that she was more than willing to put in the hard work. It would simply be a secondary bonus if she avoided the Ministry's clutches for a few more years…

 _And then… in that time, perhaps you will have a chance of getting closer to her._

Ultimately, Hermione knew that if she was going to pursue a second Mastery, it would only be beneath Mistress McGonagall.

She shivered at the thought and immediately crinkled her nose in embarrassment as the title conjured up several other images and desires that had nothing to do with her professional aspirations.

 _Soon you'll have to put these hopes to rest… in some way or another…_

"And you'll have to do a better job of unravelling your personal problems in the meantime," she muttered quietly, irritated by how twisted and tangled it all seemed. There was Transfiguration and Potions. A Mastery and a not-quite-developed Marriage Law. A political agenda and a deeply confusing personal one. And swirling at the center of it all was Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione shook her head and gave a heavy sigh.

Glancing to her right, she noted that the Ravenclaws had slipped away, leaving her alone and with a building wave of anticipation that was accompanied by a feeling of pleasant nostalgia. Similar to the fragrant breeze, it was a sensation that Hermione had experienced with every new start to the Hogwarts academic year… a specific blend of circumstances, sights, and smells that indicated that a new chapter in her knowledge of Transfiguration was about to open.

 _Time to make a move._

Taking a calming breath, Hermione smoothed her robes unnecessarily and drifted toward the archway that would lead her closer to Classroom 1B. The thought of setting foot into the familiar space with tall arched windows and luminous mirrored panels made her heart beat faster… internally, her mind tripped along solid oak desks to arrive to the front of the classroom where the Headmistress always stood.

Graceful hands wielding a dark ebony wand flitted through her thoughts, accompanied by the gentle swishing of emerald fabric... elegant footsteps echoing on worn stone… and clear green eyes assessing her with measured warmth.

Burrowing a smile, her stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably and Hermione slowed, allowing a pair of Gryffindors to pass her and slip beyond the heavy door.

 _Pull yourself together. You've waited years for this day… don't screw it up with unnecessary bumbling!_

Another group of Ravenclaws hurried past and Hermione took one last breath before moving to follow.

A quick estimate indicated she had timed her arrival perfectly.

One minute to class time.

* * *

Minerva waited patiently, sitting quietly on her desktop as the students filed in. There were a number of curious faces staring at her - the Ravenclaws in particular, while the Gryffindors muttered amongst themselves while flicking their eyes toward her closed office door as if expecting her to come bursting through at any moment.

Though it was a well-known fact that the Headmistress of Hogwarts was indeed an Animagus, no one in the last several years had borne witness to her abilities in quite some time. Even before she had relinquished her younger classes over to Talfryn, Minerva had avoided transforming in front of her students toward the end of the War - finding less and less pleasure in the ability as she found it crossing against her duties with the Order with unpleasant frequency.

Minerva was surprised that no one appeared to have figured it out yet, and it was clear from the muttered whispers that they assumed she had some version of feline transformation planned for the day.

Sighing as the ambient chatter grew, she glanced at the clock. _Two minutes._

The room was filling rather quickly and Minerva waited in anticipation for one particular face to appear. Though she had tried to suppress her irrational curiosity at how Miss Granger would handle the transition back into student life, Minerva found that she couldn't help it.

Already the young woman was throwing her for a loop.

She had expected to see Miss Granger no later than quarter to start but it had come as a great surprise when Miss Brimble and Mr. Poppelwell of Ravenclaw had been the first to arrive.

Minerva had nearly rolled her eyes as the two lovebirds quietly murmured to each other in the empty classroom, almost tempted to re-transform before they engaged in anything uncouth, however she had been saved by the arrival of more students.

Even the infamous trio of Gryffindor gremlins managed to be on time... and immediately Minerva had been irate with the witch's cheek. It was not like Miss Granger to flout the rules, though technically, she supposed… there was nothing she could do about it.

Minerva simply _preferred_ when her students made an effort to be early.

The front desks were quickly claimed and Minerva had felt an irrational pang that Miss Granger would not be sitting in her customary desk off her right. She tried not to reveal her irritation as her claws dug into the polished mahogany wood with each passing minute.

 _There she is._

Her tail flicked in excitement and Minerva covered the small reaction by curling it around her feet demurely.

Miss Granger walked in quietly, surveying the room for a moment and absorbing Minerva on the desk with a small smile. Though the witch hadn't drawn attention to herself by any means, two of the gremlins at the back of the class began sniggering and other heads began to turn.

All of the desks were taken.

 _Bollocks._

Minerva had forgotten to request an additional desk on account of the witch's presence. Twenty-five students between the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and there were only twelve desks allotted for partners.

She hated odd numbered classes.

There were a few more titters, but Minerva was pleased when Miss Granger simply stepped behind the last row of desks and removed her satchel without so much as a glance toward the two young wizards who were still cackling before her. The rest of the class had turned to watch the proceedings with interest and Minerva's claws dug into the desktop as one of the wizards elbowed the other.

"Guess they're letting anyone in here these days. Even old has-beens..."

"Sure you don't want to sit with us, Granger? I'm _sure_ we can make room."

"Yeah… right here… we've got a sweet spot just for you, yeah?"

Miss Granger's eyes flicked upwards for a brief moment and she smiled softly.

"I'm sure I'll manage," came the quiet reply.

The witch moved to sit - at least, that was about as much as Minerva could see from her vantage point, and while there may have been the briefest flash of a wand, all she knew was that there had been a small yelp, a few gasps, and then the witch was sitting quietly at her own desk - books and parchments stacked in perfect order just as the bell rang.

A ripple of appreciative murmurs passed through the room and Miss Granger deliberately looked past the grumbling boys to meet Minerva's gaze.

"I hope this meets with your approval, Headmistress?"

The wave of astonished glances nearly made her smirk and Minerva took her cue and leapt gracefully from the desk, transforming herself in the blink of an eye and quickly sweeping down from the teaching platform.

The gasps and muttered curses brought immediate satisfaction to her ears.

 _You've still got it._

"Indeed. My apologies for the inconvenience, Miss Granger," Minerva said smoothly, glancing past the admiring looks to pin the two boys directly in front of the witch with a stern glare.

"Mr. March, Mr. Allenby… I see you've left your manners and your decorum amongst the underclassmen, though fortunately it seems Miss Granger is capable of assisting herself," she said, flicking her wand and suppressing a smirk when two sets of shirts and ties tucked themselves in with matching gargled gasps.

Drawing a bit closer, her voice grew lower with disapproval.

"You would do well to treat others with more respect - whether the Headmistress is present or not. Two points from Gryffindor apiece for thoughtless bedevilment of a housemate," she glanced toward the witch, "Five to you, Miss Granger, for astute conjuration."

The boys scowled and Miss Granger offered a solemn nod before quickly breaking eye contact to organize a few more items on her desk, her jaw set rather curiously.

 _Odd..._

Minerva folded her hands and walked across the front of the room.

"As seventh-years a significant portion of the Transfiguration curriculum shall be devoted toward preparing you for the traditional end-of-year exams. Your N.E.W.T. scores will determine your pathway into the professional Wizarding world," she began carefully, noting a number of faces grow rather pale at the overture.

"A majority of entry-level positions within the Ministry require an _Exceeds Expectations_ or higher on the Transfiguration portion as does the Auror Academy, Healing Institute, and the Cambridge Philosopher's Programme. Regardless of your individual plans I assume that you are all present because Transfiguration is a discipline of some consequence to you… should such an assumption prove erroneous, you have until tomorrow to correct it."

Minerva swept back to the center of the room, ascending the low stairs slowly as she continued.

"We shall begin our year with self-transfigurations… some of the most difficult and dangerous work we shall engage in this term," she paused and gazed out at the sea of serious faces.

Already a few pairs of eyes were glowing with interest.

"As the upperclassmen of the school I should hardly need to remind you of my classroom expectations, however given the nature of our work, I will simply add that any hint of untoward conduct shall be considered sufficient grounds for your termination in this course. Am I clear?"

Her raised eyebrow was met with a chorus of emphatic, "yes ma'am's," and Minerva nodded curtly.

"Very well. Let us begin by reiterating significant points from the first two chapters of your texts. Would someone care to elucidate the fundamental differences between Animagi and Trans-Species Transformations as applied to humans?"

She settled into lecture mode quite easily - pleased when it became clear that a majority of the class had read ahead and prepared for their first day. The fundamental groundwork passed quickly and Minerva answered several perceptive questions and only a few mediocre ones.

Though she fought not to dwell on it, she couldn't help but notice how uncharacteristically silent Miss Granger appeared. The witch sat at the back of the class, attending to her notes as dutifully as anyone else, however Minerva couldn't help but worry that the young woman was somehow disengaged.

After a good amount of talking, Minerva adjourned to her desk, leaving the class with forty minutes to write a short essay upon the Energetic Restrictions of Human Transfiguration with the understanding that they would begin the practical portion on Thursday.

The classroom fell silent save for the dutiful scratching of quills and occasional fidget.

Minerva reluctantly began attending to the ever-troublesome timetable, brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted to create a balance between the first and second year Potions classes against Miss Granger's inordinately full schedule. The witch's presence would greatly alleviate the strain in that corner of the professorship, and while Minerva had been pleased by the Board's initial recommendations, she was beginning to grow worried at how the adjustment would affect the young woman in question.

Occasionally her gaze would flick up to glance around the room, but the students seemed to be focused and no one was looking at her with desperately questioning eyes. Try as she might however, Minerva found herself looking toward the back left corner of the classroom with greater and greater frequency.

Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Minerva scratched out another failed attempt at reconciling the witch's schedule.

What she would _give_ for a Time-Turner.

First glance suggested that the young woman would have to address Arithmancy, Runes, Herbology, and Charms in the form of self-study.

 _Merlin, if this upsets her N.E.W.T. trajectory in any manner, I will personally hex Horace!_

The thought brought forth her earlier conversation with Draco and Minerva paused, looking up to see that Miss Granger had surreptitiously finished her essay and was reading quietly.

"... _Master Granger could sit her N.E.W.T.s tomorrow - blindfolded, drunk on Firewhiskey, with her wand tied behind her back and still earn a higher grade than most our graduating seventh-years…"_

She sniffed once in amusement before adjusting her robes and resettling. However fanciful, Draco's statement rang true.

Minerva frowned, feeling both a pang of annoyance and flush of guilt at the woman's efficiency.

While Draco's exaggeration had been just that - an exaggeration, it did nothing to remove the point.

 _Honestly… why_ _ **are**_ _you attempting to reconcile her schedule? The witch does not belong here._

Sitting back slightly, Minerva tried not to admire the woman's posture, nor how lovely she appeared in her pressed robes. Nearly everything in Miss Granger's appearance suggested an adult witch and were it not for the Hogwarts crest, Minerva would have easily mistaken her for a fellow academic had they encountered in Diagon Alley or at a professional conference.

Her eyes traveled over the long swan-like neck carefully, noting the way the severe hairstyle lent itself to the woman's new aura of efficacy, while briefly missing the familiar mane of carefree curls.

 _What_ _**is**_ _she doing here anyway?_

Rationally, Minerva knew that Miss Granger was likely far more adept at penning a paper under a deadline than the rest of her students, as well as being accustomed to arranging her thoughts and arguments more quickly and systematically than an average seventeen year old. Not that Miss Granger had ever been average. However, no Mastery program was complete without its fair share of defended research and related article-writing and the fact that witch had made short work of her assignment remained only logical.

 _Irrationally_ , Minerva found herself a bit dismayed.

The young woman had even thought to charm her quill into moving subtly, though a relaxed hand upon it gave her away as did the sharper angle of her focus. Undoubtedly, she held an unrelated book in her lap.

Minerva deliberated on whether or not simply ask the witch for her essay, though after consideration, she decided against it. Miss Granger was likely having a difficult enough time as it was - renegotiating her presence within the castle and amongst her new school mates... _without_ drawing attention to her penchant for academic excellence.

The students would soon discover that for themselves.

With a wince, Minerva realized that she had likely done the witch little favor by awarding her points at the beginning of class… doubtless, it would not serve to ingratiate her with the Gryffindor gremlins nor any of her other peers. The majority of students seemed to regard the witch with either apprehension, scorn, or jealousy… only the little ones had seemed immune to her formidable appearance.

 _Though… she hasn't really done_ _ **herself**_ _many favors,_ Minerva mused, glancing over the woman in question again.

The witch's demeanor had been polite thus far, but standoffish - she engaged with others when necessary but not before and not of her own initiation. Minerva had been surprised to see the young woman conversing with Rolanda earlier that morning, but then Neville's voice came echoing back to haunt her.

" _You're probably one of the few people with whom she'd feel comfortable rekindling friendship…"_

 _Curious._

Perhaps Miss Granger did not desire to "fit in" with the students, as it were... but then… the question begged - what _did_ she desire?

Minerva's eyes narrowed as Draco's cryptic words from breakfast floated through her mind.

" _I see no logical reason as to why she should have re-enrolled at Hogwarts at all…_ _her intentions may extend beyond what we can fathom…"_

Minerva's thoughts began to coalesce into conviction as she continued to watch the young woman reading silently. Whatever delusions she had been holding onto regarding Miss Granger's reappearance began to evaporate and Minerva felt a brief pang of guilt as she was forced to acknowledge how her own sense of denial had clouded the available evidence. She should have seen the problematic outline from the beginning.

But then, it also seemed that her objectivity remained a bit smudged wherever Miss Granger was concerned.

 _We have far too much unfinished business..._

Minerva flushed and pressed the uncomfortable thought away, turning instead to her niggling concern that began to blossom into abject suspicion.

The witch did not belong in the role of a student and from what she had witnessed in the Pensieve, it seemed that the young woman had left a promising career in the Middle East to jump backwards into an old life that no longer suited her.

But then that begged an additional question.

 _Why hasn't Miss Granger asked for help?_

Minerva's eyes narrowed as she traced the witch's features with a careful eye, already resolving to make short work of an investigation. While nothing in the young woman's demeanor suggested that she was upset with her situation, Minerva glowered at the thought that Miss Granger had encountered some sort of obstacle that was preventing her from actualizing her true potential. Such a notion would be… _completely unacceptable._

 _What are you up to, Miss Granger? Who or what is holding you back?_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Ohh... I apologize for my lack of usual posts. Life has been throwing multiple curve balls in my direction and my writing muse has been taking a spring sabbatical. I assure you that none of my stories shall be abandoned and I ask your continued patience as I wait for a bit more inspiration to hit._

 _That said... enjoy this chapter! I do have the next several blocked out... they just need to be written and polished! :)_

 _Thank you to all who have written reviews, provided feedback, and otherwise conveyed your appreciation! I always appreciate the encouragement!_

 _-R_

* * *

Hermione deliberately inserted herself into the middle of the group as the room collectively rose to turn in their essays. Though she had finished the task not even twenty minutes into their given work time, there was no reason to fall back upon her eager beaver habits from years past. Dealing with her peers would be challenging enough. She didn't need to earn their contempt along the way.

Caught in the throng of bodies filing toward the Headmistress' desk, Hermione kept her focus a bit lowered as everyone jostled into line, chatting amicably as focus turned from classwork to the day ahead. Thoughts suspended, she was content to follow the crowd when suddenly a stinging hex burned up the back of her thighs, immediately setting both her skin and temper on fire.

 _Of all the_ _ **stupid**_ _, spineless- !_

She stumbled briefly before casting a nonverbal counter-curse, earning a few derisive looks from those she bumped... only serving to make her anger boil more aggressively. _Take a breath._

"Miss Granger, a word please."

Hermione placed her parchment on the growing stack of essays and gave a gracious nod toward the Headmistress who was standing behind her desk patiently. She stepped to one side and angled herself to face toward the departing group of students, but there were no triumphant or guilty-looking faces in the bunch.

Furious, Hermione cast a nonverbal detection spell to discern her attacker's wand-type. The subtle lights glowed just off her left wrist where the Headmistress wouldn't see it.

 _Redwood and unicorn hair._

This would have to be handled later.

It had been a foolish prank and Hermione was simultaneously incensed by the pettiness of the hex and the fact that the caster had been bold enough to have tried it beneath the Headmistress' nose. Either the person had some sort of personal vendetta against her of which she was unaware, or, it was some form of infantile posturing meant to take her down a notch and impress their peers.

Somehow, she knew that the move had Gryffindor arrogance written all over it.

Hermione bit back a growl.

 _ **Stupid.**_

"Miss Granger? Are you quite all right?"

The Headmistress was staring at her with a peculiar expression and Hermione pressed a hand over her robes and stepped closer to the witch's desk as the last students marched away.

"Yes, Headmistress. Forgive me, I was simply thinking ahead to the coming day," she replied smoothly, lips quirking into a small smile. Fortunately, it was easy to draw forth the simple action - the woman before her looked even more beautiful and intimidating than she had earlier in the morning, if such a thing were possible.

The witch gave a nod, though her reserved expression told Hermione that the explanation wasn't quite believed.

"I believe a congratulations are in order," the Headmistress said softly, organizing the stack of essays absently as her eyes flicked toward the last of the exiting students. "It seems the Board of Governors has approved your appointment to teach the first and second year Potions classes. Undoubtedly I shall receive the official order by mid-afternoon."

Elegant lips curved into a smile and Hermione nodded her acknowledgement, feeling a small leap of excitement and a bit of curiousity that the witch had elected to inform her before the decision had actually been made final. She wondered if the Headmistress was pleased by her new appointment or irritated by the fact that Hermione had not discussed her earlier conversation with Professor Slughorn.

Privately, Hermione was already experiencing regret at not having informed the Headmistress of the arrangement herself; she knew from past experience that the witched loathed being left out of the loop.

She felt another twinge of guilt.

 _Like you're continuing to do now..._

"I see," Hermione replied slowly, trailing her fingertips along the edge of the familiar mahogany desk as she thought quickly, trying to salvage the situation as best she could. "In that case, may I ask a potentially impertinent question?"

A dark eyebrow rose.

"By all means."

"I assume you are in the midst of redrawing my timetable and I may have a few thoughts to contribute on that matter to ease your efforts. I imagine you might welcome the input," Hermione said boldly. Predictably the elder witch's lips thinned, but after a moment the emerald gaze turned thoughtful.

"An unorthodox request, however we seem to find ourselves in a rather unorthodox situation," the Headmistress replied, giving her a rare smile - one that reached the twinkling emerald eyes. The small action helped loosen the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach, and Hermione waited, knowing that the witch likely had more to say.

"I suppose in this circumstance I shall allow it… _with_ the understanding that the final approval remains in my hands."

"Of course, Headmistress," Hermione replied, giving a gracious nod and stepping back politely as the taller woman moved to round the edge of the desk. Her senses prickled as her nose caught the very subtle blend of bergamot, birch leaf, sea salt, and pine resin. It was earthy sort of freshness, like the air following a summer rain and Hermione's lips parted unconsciously, wanting to draw in the delicious smell and take in more of it.

Momentarily distracted, she paused, turning slightly as she realized the elder witch fallen into stillness behind her, and was watching her with a rather opaque expression.

"Miss Granger…" Rose lips pressed together for a moment and Hermione watched as something akin to uncertainty passed acrossed the witch's chiseled features. The Headmistress wrapped a lithe arm around her leatherbound teaching portfolio.

"It was never my intention to pry into your personal matters, but now that our roles shall be intersecting upon the professional level in addition to the academic, I hope you would consider enlightening me as to the true motivations behind your return to us here at Hogwarts."

The witch's focus drifted away for a moment and dark lashes fluttered delicately before the Headmistress tilted her head and fixed Hermione with a direct gaze. Surprised, Hermione's breath hitched and she tensed slightly, feeling pinned by the unexpected intensity held within bright emerald eyes.

"Whatever the cause, I am sure we shall come to a solution."

The elder witch paused with lips parted slightly, before abruptly closing her mouth and turning away.

"We shall discuss these matters this evening in my office. Seven o'clock."

Despite the open-ended wording, Hermione knew that she was being given an unspoken command to 'tell all' and she inclined her head in understanding even as the fluttering of nervous butterflies surged uncomfortably. Though she had come to know the Headmistress on a more personal level in the months following the War, the witch still retained the ability to remain inscrutable in the least helpful of moments.

Her murmured, "Of course, Headmistress," was met with impassive yet accepting silence and Hermione took her cue and fell into step as the witch began moving toward the heavy doors at the end of the hall. She wasn't entirely sure if the woman was displeased, annoyed, or concerned with her situation, however it seemed clear that the Headmistress wanted answers and something had shifted to provoke her into pursuing the full story.

Hermione bit her lip and filtered through her thoughts over the last several days, trying to pinpoint what had prompted the elder witch's change in approach. She had hoped to reveal the Ministry's ultimatum once settled into her new situation, but it seemed the witch held other ideas.

Perhaps Kingsley had sent some sort of notice to the Headmistress directly? Or maybe he had received word of her new teaching appointment.

Hermione paused and pressed her lips together as the Headmistress pulled up short just outside of the Transfiguration classroom and fixed her with a thoughtful look. For a moment it seemed as though she wished to make a comment, but then the witch simply inclined her head in a clear gesture of dismissal.

Unsure of what to say, Hermione elected to rush off in the direction of the greenhouses, troubled and slightly unnerved at how quickly the Headmistress had shifted the dynamics of their fledgling reconnection. There had been none of the tangible warmth from Sunday and she tamped down the instinctive wave of apprehension and disappointment.

 _Stop it. You owe her an explanation and she hasn't yet said anything to indicate her disapproval..._

Huffing under her breath, Hermione drew upon the sense of calm that had become a well-honed coping mechanism during her mastery.

Her private thoughts would have to wait until later.

* * *

"... Master Granger has elected to re-enroll in order to garner an additional forbearance from current penalties. For the moment, she remains beyond the reach of the Wizengamot's influence, though I must urge you to speak with her. Surely you must see that it is in her best interests to comply with the Ministry's recommendations?"

Minerva lifted a hand to stop the Minister's monologue as she rose slowly, lips tightly pressed together as she worked to contain her fury.

"Minister, I believe I have heard enough."

Kingsley simply blinked at her for a long moment before stepping back, clearly surprised by the anger that was undoubtedly simmering upon her features. The wizard opened his hands beseechingly.

"Minerva, you _must_ understand… the Wizengamot is under considerable pressure-"

" _I don't care, Kingsley,_ " Minerva hissed, pressing her palms flat against the desktop, "How dare you speak to me of _pressure!_ You and I both know that Hermione Granger sacrificed her childhood for the Ministry, all because your predecessors weren't willing to open their eyes to the reality of Voldemort's return! Now you're asking her to sacrifice her career and her happiness all so that the Wizarding community will embrace your misguided approach to our population crisis? _It's ludicrous!_ I'm surprised she didn't hex you at the first opportunity!"

Kingsley's jaw worked for a long moment and Minerva lifted her hand again to forestall the protests as she pressed the other to the bridge of her nose. Of all people to be standing in opposition to, she would never have imagined Kingsley Shacklebolt to have taken up sides against her.

The wizard had been one of the most outspoken Order members tasked with the protection of the "Golden Trio" in the summer months following the Final Battle. Prior to becoming Minister, Kingsley had been vehemently opposed to any interactions with the press, insisting to anyone who would listen that her three Gryffindors were more than deserving their privacy.

 _And how far the righteous have fallen…_

Minerva allowed her voice to take on an icy tone as she glared at her old friend.

"Hermione deserves more than to become a glittering figurehead the machinations of your new government, Kingsley. Whatever happened to wanting to protect our young ones from the cruelty and demands of the public eye?"

The accusation made the wizard shift uncomfortably, but Minerva ignored it along with the reproachful stare as she straightened her shoulders and took a step back.

"Now I know you never asked to inherit this situation… but for the gods' sake, Kingsley, wake up and take a look around you… you are committing our entire nation back to the ages prior the ISOS. Would you really have us crawl backward and take up the ancient ways?"

"Minerva, the Wizengamot's rulings will pass in a matter of weeks. We must make the best of a terrible situation. I assure you I am doing all I can to help rectify the situation as quickly and painlessly as possible," Kingsley replied tiredly, his words sounding hollow and heavy, as though he had repeated them many different times before. _Which he likely has…_

"Painless for whom?" Minerva spat. "It has been _four_ years since the end of the War, Kingsley. What predictions can the Wizengamot possibly be making about the state of our nation after only _four_ years?"

"Minerva… national morale is at an all-time low," Kingsley replied quietly. "Following the Final Battle, our population has declined by well over half and our economic resources have all been but decimated. While I realize that Hogwarts has yet to feel the brunt of the impact, I assure you that your own turn is coming. Already I suspect that you have noted the swift decline in available professors."

The wizard stroked his goatee for a moment before sniffing lightly.

"The number of Mastery-level wands within our nation is standing at fifteen percent of figures dated from ten years previous. It seems that the majority of your colleagues have all been killed in battle or have departed for foreign posts."

Minerva remained silent for a long moment, unwilling to acknowledge the Minister's dire assessment of their situation. The figures were more staggering than the majority of the public realized, but she knew they were sound.

 _Still… there are plenty of alternatives to taking a single witch as sacrifice for the public eye._

"That is why _education_ is such a prudent investment of the Ministry's time," she replied calmly, willing herself to stay focused on the issue at hand even as they debated the national agenda.

 _Protect Hermione's future..._

"Allow our younger generations to pursue their interests beyond the secondary level and increase support of national scholarships so that they might develop their magic and abilities to support our losses. Open our Floo's to international trade and scholarly exchange. We can still walk away from this situation by investing in our youngest wands and embracing our local allies. Demanding an early legacy is a surefire way to sow the seeds of resentment… surely you must see that?"

Kingsley sighed and shook his head even as Minerva felt a stab of frustration.

"Minerva, such large-scale campaigns would take time and resources that we simply do not have. What data do you have to suggest that higher education won't simply tempt our younger generations into finding more lucrative work beyond our borders?" he replied heavily, "The Wizengamot believes-"

"Oh, blast the entire Wizengamot!" Minerva snapped, finally reaching the end of her patience. She stood and waved one her arm open, feeling her cheeks flush in anger.

"Where was the Wizengamot when our countrymen were disappearing left and right? When Fudge's sanity grew more suspect by the minute and freedoms were being curtailed by their own colleagues? Where were they when Albus was cast from the Astronomy tower like some… some haphazard afterthought? Can you honestly tell me they felt sorry? _Guilty?_ Where was the entire bloody Wizengamot when they when they allowed _Death Eaters_ into these castle walls and my students were being tortured by that hideous _woman_? Where were they-"

" _Minerva._ "

Kingsley's firm voice cut through her rising tirade and Minerva abruptly turned away, drawing a shaky breath as she attempted to tamp down the wave of flaming anger. A crackle of magic rippled along the surface of her skin and she lifted her chin, tamping down her feelings even as she crossed her arms.

Anger gave way to embarrassment at losing her temper, and a separate wave of frustration threatened to give way to tears.

 _Gods, pull it together, Min._

"I am doing the best that I can," Kingsley replied after a long moment, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Please trust me when I say that I am doing everything that I can to keep these referendums and penalties within the realm of reason," he continued. "I have taken little pleasure in these proceedings… however buying time for the general public requires sacrifices…"

Minerva scoffed lightly under her breath but refused to turn.

"Though it seems Master Granger has matters well in hand for the moment," Kingsley murmured. She thought she heard him sniff. "For the moment the Wizengamot cannot touch her and she is free from usual penalties until the time of her graduation. However, she has not endeared herself to anyone within the Ministry… and if you consider yourself a friend, you would do well to warn her."

Despite the calm tone of voice, Minerva could tell that the Minister was more than irked by the younger woman's decision to have re-enrolled at Hogwarts and it was no surprise to discover that the witch had rocked the Wizengamot as well.

Despite her lingering frustration, Minerva buried a quiet smile. The strategy had been unorthodox, but then… she would never have expected anything less than brilliance from the young woman.

At least for now, she was assured that Hermione would continue to remain safe within the castle walls. It would have to be enough until Minerva could sit down with the witch and ascertain what Hermione's true goals and motivations were. Surely abandoning her career abroad had been a hard blow for the young woman to stomach… and the notion drew forth an unexpected pang.

 _Even if she did not desire to return to Great Britain, you should be thankful for the opportunity to reconnect with her..._

And to help.

Gods knew that Hermione deserved it.

And, well… whatever the young woman _did_ desire, Minerva would be hellbent on seeing it through to fruition.

Turning over one shoulder, Minerva fixed her old friend with a raised eyebrow.

"Very well. I trust that you shall keep me appraised of any proceedings pertinent to Miss Granger's situation," she stated, "To say that I shall be vexed if the Wizengamot opens an individual case against her would be a grave understatement. She is both my student and future colleague. Do not make an enemy of Hogwarts."

"You have my word, Minerva."

Satisfied that her point had been made, Minerva nodded curtly and rearranged a few items upon her desktop absently. A glance at the clock suggested that she had little under an hour before she would be expected in the Great Hall for dinner.

 _And then you shall have to deal with the witch herself…_

Somehow, the idea made her stomach flip-flop unpleasantly. Hermione had walked out of her life in Great Britain with nary a glance behind until now. Surely, this slight against her privacy would be met with displeasure; Minerva did not relish the thought of revealing her own investigations… however well-meaning they had been from the start.

She paused in her internal musings as Kingsley scrubbed his face with both hands and chuckled mirthlessly.

"Now then, with business out of the way, I suppose this would be a bad time for us to discuss a separate proposal? One of a more… personal nature? Master Granger is not the only one with a delinquent file."

Minerva blinked for a long moment, frowning as she absorbed the taller wizard's playfully coy expression and small half-smile. A few seconds passed and then she scoffed derisively at the obvious joke, eyes flashing as she rounded her desk.

"Really, Kingsley… I do realize that this entire situation is grating upon everyone's sanity, however your sense of humor could not be more ill-timed," she snapped, smoothing a hand over her hair absently. "I trust you'll forgive my lack of answer."

The Minister winced.

"Unfortunately, no…" he trailed off before fixing her with an apologetic expression, "Though I fear you may be right about my sense of timing, all barbs regarding humor aside. It seems my Ravenclaw practicality never did quite learn how to read a room."

Something about the sheepish expression seemed to register and Minerva blinked, one hand rising to her sternum as the Minister's words spiraled into a dawning sense of horror. The puzzle pieces suddenly clicked into place and she heard the portraits above begin to shuffle indiscriminately.

"Oh gods, you were serious," she breathed, her other hand rising to ghost over her open mouth as the Minister shrugged. "Oh Kingsley… are…? You can't… are you truly…"

She could barely say it.

"... are you truly proposing... _marriage?_ To _me?_ "

"As I said, there never was going to be a good time to ask, Minerva," Kingsley replied tiredly, taking off his kofia and rubbing the top of his head absently. "We both know the pace of political machinations… though I am not completely unaware of the irony here, seeing as I am to be... what's the phrase? Hoist upon my own petard, as it were?"

Minerva turned away slightly and fought for composure, unable to reconcile the Minister's wry tone and tired expression with the words falling from his lips.

 _Marriage! With… with… Kingsley!_

Her customary sense of calm was suddenly nowhere to be found and Minerva pressed her eyes shut for a long moment, drawing in a deep breath.

To say that she felt entirely blindsided would have been a complete understatement.

 _How could you have missed this?_

"Kingsley… I-" her mind raced, acutely aware that there was going to be no easy way to turn him down without revealing a key facet of her own identity. In fact, she was startled that he didn't already know.

Despite her best efforts, the rumors would never die out completely.

"I highly doubt we would be a compatible match," Minerva managed, drawing herself upwards and fixing her old friend with what she hoped was an austere expression.

Kingsley chuckled.

"Come now, Minerva… we are both highly intelligent, rational people who place the needs of our communities ahead of our own. Surely you see the benefits of working in concert? It would be a marriage steeped in mutual respect and understanding, which is more than I can say of the suitors who have been clamoring at the castle doors for the past four years..."

Minerva's nostrils flared and she set her jaw.

Well, that confirmed that the Ministry had indeed been keeping eyes upon her since the end of the War. The thought brought a small flare of indignant anger, but before she could address the slip, a dark eyebrow rose in playful challenge.

"Do you truly find me so undesirable, Minerva? "

Minerva flinched in response and attempted to cover the small movement by drawing her hands upward and fingering her wand. Unable to find an appropriate answer she turned and walked over to the windows, crossing her arms self-defensively as she gazed down toward the castle grounds.

"Kingsley… this isn't a matter of your suitability," she replied after a long moment. She shook her head quietly, trying to assemble her whirling thoughts.

Down below, a short autumn shower had misted much of the front lawn and even from the height of the Headmaster's tower, she could see the droplets glittering gently in the afternoon light. It was a clean and reassuring sight… almost too peaceful to match the internal battle raging within.

Minerva turned to lean one hip against the windowsill before gazing at her old friend.

"I am truly flattered by your offer, Kingsley, however… I simply cannot accept it. Despite your arguments, I fear that there are far too many factors at play that would make such a union ill-advised at best," she sighed softly, "You deserve better than to be trapped in a marriage of simple convenience and I cannot be what you require."

"Minerva, whatever your reservations, let them be known so that I may assuage you of them," Kingsley replied calmly, clearly ready to defend his proposal in earnest. The honest response elicited an immediate ripple of dismay, and Minerva exhaled slowly, suddenly afraid to reveal the truth.

"If it's the conflict of our positions, I daresay we are intelligent and mature enough to find ways around it. If it's the pressure of work, I also believe we can find a reasonable balance. If it is our age difference, well…" Kingsley's smile grew coy, "Surely you have enough energy for the both of us?"

Minerva flushed, holding up a feeble hand as she attempted to stave off the Minister's continued arguments. For whatever reason, the comment about age seemed to strike home… just not in the manner that her friend expected.

 _Gods, he's only a decade younger than you… how could you possibly have ever tried to reconcile four?_

She pressed away the impulse to cringe in embarrassment.

"Kingsley-"

"I realize I am asking a great deal of you, Minerva… however you must see the potential?" Kingsley continued, seemingly oblivious to her rising agitation. He sighed heavily.

"Now, I know I may not be the husband you desire-"

"That has nothing to do with it," Minerva interrupted, fighting for composure as one hand threaded through her hair absently. She paced a small circuit in front of the window.

"I'm… not… that is to say…" she closed her eyes and tried again, "I don't… I'm not _straight_ , Kingsley!"

The admission, despite being declared assertively, still brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks as Minerva lifted her chin defiantly and waited for a response. Unconsciously, she found her wand suddenly clutched at her side.

Dark eyes blinked at her for a long moment before Kingsley's shoulders slumped.

He sniffed softly and began to chuckle. Despite her utter humiliation, Minerva refused to look away, willing her reddened cheeks to return to normal.

"Me either."

Kingsley's reply was quiet, and he regarded her with a sad smile.

Minerva opened her mouth and then closed it.

"Then… what-?"

Moving forward, Kingsley propped one foot upon the chair opposite her desk and leaned upon it heavily. Still in shock, she could barely summon a flash of irritation at the casual gesture.

"You know as well as I, Minerva, that despite the general attitude of acceptance regarding sexual orientation, there are those of us in the public eye who must live our lives according to the demands of those we serve," he said tiredly, "A wizard in my position is expected to follow the old laws… I've been under considerable pressure to take a wife, produce an heir, and well…" he cracked a small smile as he glanced upwards, "I imagine I could do far worse than the _Lion_ of Gryffindor."

A small chuckle. "Well… _Lioness_ , I suppose."

Minerva returned to her desk on autopilot and sat heavily, feeling overwhelmed, embarrassed, and more than a little sense of deja vú as she recalled her conversation with Draco the day previous. _Weren't you just discussing the nature of living in the public eye? Well there you go, Min…_

The "Lion of Gryffindor."

Gods.

She hadn't heard that nickname for decades.

During the first War it had been her codename amongst Darker circles - an epithet meant to mock her loyalty to Albus and to cast doubt upon her sexual orientation.

Voldemort's conservative Muggle upbringing had betrayed him early on as he sought to sow the seeds of division and prejudice amongst the Wizarding community, and despite the wizard's outdated perspectives, the Death Eaters had absorbed them willingly - a number of them simply citing Pureblood traditions and the pressing need for future heirs as reasoning for discarding centuries of tolerance.

As a result, during the height of the first war, the country had been plastered with several unsavory caricatures made of her involving zoo animals, cages, and sexual threats. Predictably, Albus had derived a great deal of amusement from the entire campaign and made no secret of it, much to Minerva's overt irritation.

Following the War, the name had been re-appropriated by fellow Order members and turned into a badge of honor and respect… though Minerva had never admitted how provocative a phrase it had become for her - one colored by a mixture of shame and anger… with roots far deeper than anyone truly realized.

Returning to the present, Minerva found one hand pressed to the bridge of her nose as she struggled with her own thoughts and emotions. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticked quietly and even the portraits above seemed to be holding their breath, as equally frozen as she while her mind struggled for a final answer.

Despite her empathy for her friend's situation - and her own if she were being entirely honest - she felt a startling flood of emotion rise up in her chest that had nothing to do with either of their revelations.

On the one hand, it would have been logical to accept the Minister's proposal.

It would solve both of their immediate problems and potentially offer an escape from the myopic scrutiny of the Wizengamot.

Offspring were an entirely different story… she wasn't exactly _young_ , by any means, though Kingsley's proposal seemed to be entirely based upon business and she imagined that they could find away around that particular demand if the need arose.

They were both figureheads… not striving to become a real live couple, for Merlin's sake!

On the other hand, she firmly believed in the importance of Hogwarts' continued autonomy from the Ministry's meddling influences. Bedding the Minister himself, for lack of a better term - well… that did not bode well for the future of the school.

Lifting her gaze carefully, she found Kingsley waiting with open features - patience and understanding written across them as he watched her work through her thoughts.

 _Gods… he really is a good man. I doubt the nation even truly realizes…_

Beneath her roiling mixture of disbelief, anger, residual shame and embarrassment, and some unnameable sense of cosmic irony, a strange vacuum had opened in her chest… and it took Minerva another long moment to realize that it was a deep pervasive sense of sadness.

For a brief moment, a series of images floated through her mind. Passing fantasies and illusions she had never truly considered until that very moment… and suddenly they were all evaporating into thin air.

It was the sadness of lost chances and opportunities… and Minerva sat forward carefully, burying her feelings as she folded her hands upon the desk. The gravity of the situation was not lost upon her.

 _How has it come to this?_

Stomach roiling, Minerva heard the echo of her voice fall upon the silent office like a tinny reverberation through water. Muted, smudged… and she almost didn't believe that she had spoken the words at all.

Her answer was quiet and it hung between them with a powerful sense of finality.

Lifting her gaze, Minerva found Kingsley nodding quietly to himself, a sad smile playing around his features as he adjusted his kofia.

"Well…" Kingsley set his foot down and straightened, purple robes pulled tight across his broad chest as he offered her a casual salute. "It seems we may be seeing a great deal more of each other in the coming months… now that there is work to be done."

Minerva nodded gently.

"Don't think this changes anything," she said softly, a note of warning creeping into her tone.

To her surprise the Minister merely chuckled and shook his head as he fished a handful of Floo powder out of one pocket.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, sweeping backward and making his way toward the fireplace. Minerva watched as he stoked the flames a bit higher, feeling a strange sense of detachment as she watched the wizard's large frame against the backdrop of rippling light.

Her chest felt heavy, but despite the gamut of emotions that their unexpected conversation had just elicited, she couldn't summon any energy to review what had just occurred.

 _Just get through the rest of this day..._

"As difficult as these times are, Minerva… I do hold out a bit of hope for your happiness," Kingsley called, turning to gaze at her over one shoulder with a beseeching gaze. She looked up and waited quietly.

"Somehow, these arrangements always have a way of working themselves out."

Minerva settled upon a silent nod of acknowledgement, palms pressed against the cool surface of her desktop as the flames suddenly glowed green.

As the Minister disappeared, she felt a swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach as though the chair had suddenly been plucked out from beneath her.

 _What have I done?_


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Nothing has been forgotten. :) But regular updates will be few and far between until perhaps July, I imagine. I appreciate everyone's patience and encouragement!_

 _-R_

* * *

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth as her boots carried her in the direction of the Head's office.

A number of topics vied for precedence, but she studiously avoided unraveling the conversation that still lay before her. Too much of her day had already been spent walking through hypothetical scenarios with the Headmistress and her overall anxiety level was raised enough as it was.

Despite her full day of classes (and no further intelligence regarding the early morning prank), Hermione had managed to escape to the library during both lunch and dinner - quickly assembling her materials for the evening meeting as well as researching past cases of returning students and the usual demands of adjunct professors. While there hadn't been much available to shed light upon her own situation, she had at least wanted to be prepared.

As her Master had always instructed, business should never be conducted without first establishing one's own solid base of research.

Still, as she found herself composing her new plans, Hermione imagined that her student role would quickly take a backburner to her new duties as an adjunct. There was simply _less_ to do as a student and _more_ to gain as an educator. Somehow, the notion brought a great deal of comfort.

 _At least then your Mastery won't be completely wasted…_

Sighing, Hermione rounded a corner and descended an empty staircase, pleased that the majority of the halls seemed to be clear of students for the moment. She had a quarter of an hour before being expected at the Headmistress' door and she wanted to utilize the time to arrange her thoughts.

Fortunately, a brief chat with Neville had provided a bit of insight into the Headmistress' mindset.

Catching up with her old friend after Herbology had settled several matters related to her own situation as well as reassuring her that there were at least _some_ young people in the country with a few brain cells left.

However, their brief discussion had also revealed that the Minister of Magic himself had been spotted within the castle walls that very day… and while there were innumerable reasons as to why the Headmistress might've scheduled a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt, intuitively Hermione knew that the cat had already been let out of the bag.

 _What will be will be… and while an apology remains in order, you cannot predict how she will react to the particulars of your situation._

Hermione sighed again and passed a hand over her immaculately twisted hair, having decided upon a slightly different style for her meeting with the enigmatic witch. It _was_ technically after hours… and considering that her meeting was of an official nature regarding her professional career, she had elected to wear a set of deep garnet robes as a subtle nod to her Society. At this point, she would take whatever small points she could get.

The soft fabrics swished pleasantly as she walked, smelling faintly of Jerusalem - a light sweetness that mixed together argan oil, cedar, and a sweet freshness specific to her Master's house.

The robes had actually been a gift from her Master's eldest daughter upon the completion of her second classifications, and they gave her the feeling of being supported… almost as if Talia, Achinoam, and the rest of her new community were right there beside her.

The thought made her smile and Hermione gave a fond glance over her ensemble, pleased to note how the fabric caught the rich glow of the sconces as she walked.

In actuality, the underrobe was a fitted dress; the buttery fabric skirted about her ankles and draped across her decolletage in a shallow V, drawing attention to her collarbones and providing a great deal of comfort. The outer layer was a bit more structured, hugging her waist beneath a sheath of luminous satin and creating a sharp stately A-line all the way down to the toes of her boots. The collar followed the shallow V of the inner robe, creating a clean tailored effect that she hoped the Headmistress would appreciate.

The robes' sleeves were fitted, and while she missed the added fabric draping from her elbows, Hermione had secretly hoped they would act as a reminder for her not to fidget.

 _Tonight is about business and redrawing the parameters of your relationship…_

Her usual dark red lipstick completed the effect and Hermione had felt a bit bolstered by the number of appreciative stares she had earned while departing from Gryffindor tower.

While the attentions of teenage witches and wizards could hardly be considered a barometer of her appearance, hopefully the Headmistress would begin to see her as an adult witch deserving of a bit more equality… and possibly appreciation.

What seemed like both a winding journey and unfathomably short amount of time, Hermione finally arrived to the impressive stone gargoyle, striding straight up to the statue and providing the remembered password with a bit more confidence than she felt.

A moment later, her thoughts were suspended and with a surreal feeling of anticipation, Hermione found herself squaring her shoulders as the stone steps carried her upward toward her destination.

Arriving to the threshold and the familiar ornate carvings upon burnished oak, Hermione gave a firm knock.

"Enter."

The door opened with a gesture and Hermione took a few steps forward, quickly finding the subject of her most recent musings seated behind her desk, surrounded by stacks of parchments that nearly obscured her from view. Candelight flooded the warm office space, and her heart immediately softened at the reminder of many such evenings from memories in the summer following the War.

"Ah, Miss Granger… right on time."

The witch's throaty voice was warm and Hermione was surprised to see the notes of a genuine smile gracing elegant features as the Headmistress finished penning a parchment. Perhaps she had less cause to be nervous than she had anticipated.

A moment later the Headmistress looked up and… _was that a double-take?_

She couldn't be sure.

"Please… have a seat, Miss Granger."

A graceful hand gestured toward two chairs opposite her desk and Hermione glided across the center of the room, subtly adjusting both options with a flick of her wand, intending to sit directly opposite the other witch as her Master had taught.

The Headmistress took a moment to busy herself with clearing her desk as Hermione quietly absorbed the array of portraits shifting overhead.

Their meeting on Sunday had not given her the opportunity to appreciate all of the new changes to the Head's office, and Hermione was surprised to see how earnestly it reflected the style and personality of the witch across from her.

Gone were the whirring devices and whimsical trinkets she remembered from Dumbledore's reign. Instead, the desk had been expertly organized for easy access to files, parchment, quills, and what appeared to be an original copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.

Curved walls behind the dual staircases leading toward the upper level were still jam-packed with books, but somehow they seemed to convey a sense of comfort and clarity rather than the aura of mystery and age that she remembered from her early schooling. Dumbledore's ostentatiously carved oak desk had been replaced by the Headmistress' much more subdued and classic mahogany one, and even the gaggle of portraits overhead seemed a bit more orderly than she recalled from memory.

The atmosphere seemed perfectly Minerva McGonagall and Hermione found herself smiling softly as she sank into the comfort of an antique walnut chair.

As she adjusted her robes, Hermione finally chanced a look at the Headmistress, whose features seemed relaxed if somewhat pensive as she magicked away the last of her paperwork.

"Good evening, Headmistress," Hermione murmured softly, offering a gentle smile as the emerald gaze eventually settled upon her to provide the intense, undivided attention she had come to expect. "I trust the rest of your day has fared well since we last met?"

For a moment, she thought it might have been the wrong thing to say, because a shadow of consternation passed over familiar features... but then the witch merely tilted her head, her lips curving upwards as almond eyes narrowed slightly.

"An eventful one, to say the least," the Headmistress lifted a brow as one long arm reached to pull a clean sheet of parchment closer, "However, when is it not at Hogwarts?"

Hermione smiled her agreement.

"Now then… it seems we have several matters to attend to this evening, Miss Granger, however I would like to begin by addressing your academics first. You mentioned you had your own thoughts upon reconciling your timetable?"

It seemed that they would be getting down to business straightaway.

"Yes," Hermione nodded and leaned forward slightly, "As it stands now, it seems most prudent that I attend to Arithmancy, Runes, History, Muggle Studies, and Charms in the form of self-study. Provided the professors are willing to accommodate me, I have little issue with this upon my end."

A nod confirmed what she had already surmised and she pressed on.

"I have already taken the liberty of blocking out my first term so as to coordinate my exam schedule with the standard seventh-year curriculum as best I can. Given that I shall potentially be administering exams around the same time, I would only request to move my midterms and finals up by two weeks to allow sufficient time for my own grading," Hermione said, secretly pleased to see the Headmistress' eyes widen slightly before she nodded her understanding.

"Furthermore, I have spoken with Professors Hagrid and Longbottom," she continued, refusing to betray how odd it felt to refer to one of her good friends by the title of 'professor.'

"While I could retain at least one period of class time for either subject, I would also prefer to see to both Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures on my own time in order to coordinate with Professor Malfoy and prepare the shared Potions curriculum. Both professors have each agreed to work with me outside of the usual class hours, pending your approval, of course..."

Hermione wet her lips briefly before barreling onward, gesturing lightly as she spoke.

"... which then leaves my Defense and Astronomy classes untouched and only Transfiguration to reconcile with this new arrangement. I was unsure of your preference given that it seems I would only be able to attend one class a week."

The Headmistress sat back slightly, seemingly surprised and pleased by her initiative. Hermione could fairly see the witch's thoughts coalesce into a decision and she swallowed her own pleasure at still being able to read through the woman's microexpressions. The witch gave a thoughtful nod before lifting a careful brow.

"Very well, I have no objections to your proposal," the Headmistress replied, smoothing long fingers over the parchment before her and magicking together a new timetable with a few deft gestures. "Pending approval from each of your professors, we shall progress with this new schedule as planned. As for Transfiguration, let us plan for you to attend Thursday morning classes as they were originally scheduled. You and I shall work separately, preferably Tuesday evenings as often as possible to address any gaps in your knowledge so as to keep in line with the other seventh-years."

"Of course, Headmistress."

The elder witch seemed to pause a moment before plucking up a quill and quickly jotting a few notes upon the newly filled parchment.

"I realize that it would be preferable for you to see to Transfiguration in the form of self-study along with your other courses, however I trust you understand that my time is limited. I cannot guarantee consistency in scheduling alongside my duties as Headmistress and while I know your own studies will remain above reproach, your presence in classes will invariably help your fellow students remain motivated throughout the term. And _that_ would be of great help to me as well."

Hermione buried her slight disappointment in not having more alone time with the witch, however she understood that the Headmistress' duties took precedence. Already, it was rather generous for the witch to adjust to her unique situation at all.

"Certainly," she murmured, "I truly am appreciative of the accommodation, Headmistress, as well as your vote of confidence. I won't have you regret it."

At that, green eyes briefly rose to make contact with her own and there was the briefest flash of a smile before the witch banished the parchment with a casual gesture. The Headmistress hummed lightly in response even as the small act of wandless magic made Hermione smile.

She buried it quickly before sharp eyes flicked upward again and cooled somewhat. The elder witch drew forth another blank parchment before tilting her head and regarding Hermione more directly.

"Now, moving on to the matter of your contract, I believe Horace has briefed you regarding classes and duties you've been requisitioned to absorb?"

Hermione noted the subtle switch into a more informal tone and found herself squaring her shoulders in response. Honestly, it was not so different from negotiating the subtleties of etiquette in the world of the Potions Society.

Besides, if she had any chance of earning the Headmistress' respect beyond that of a simple colleague, she needed to establish herself as a competent, independent woman and _soon._

"Yes, he did."

"Do you have any questions prior to negotiating the specifics of this arrangement?"

A new expression was coloring the familiar features, and Hermione realized that this was her new employer and eventual colleague speaking. The thought brought a rush of pleasure even as she tilted her head and opened one palm.

Emerald eyes zeroed in upon her fingertips as she conjured a list of prepared questions and specifics she had already drawn together. Though the witch's expression did not change, though again, Hermione had the distinct impression of pleased approval.

"A few questions, yes… and I hope you will forgive any perceived impertinence," Hermione replied, affecting the proper tones she usually utilized when speaking to her own Master. "I simply wish to define the nature of my various responsibilities as an adjunct professor against my role as a returning student. I've taken the liberty of researching the history of adjuncts at Hogwarts as well as past graduates with extenuating circumstances… and while I am the only fully-fledged Master to be returning to complete a secondary degree, I believe it would be beneficial to review prior documentation for the protection of my individual rights as well as those of Hogwarts itself."

The Headmistress gazed at her for a long moment as if assessing her sincerity before simply folding her hands neatly upon the desktop and inclining her head.

"By all means, let us see what you have uncovered."

A moment later, a small smile lit rose-colored lips and Hermione found herself responding with one of her own.

This _would_ work.

* * *

Minerva felt slightly flushed as she listened to Miss Granger's thorough breakdown of a proposal to share service-related duties with Draco Malfoy.

Already, the witch had successfully negotiated her terms for teaching hours, faculty duties, a few salary-related points, and a research-related proposal that Minerva had set aside for later, (admittedly more than eager to review it upon her own time).

Despite the professional nature of their discussion, the witch's confidence was… distracting.

Perhaps it was the evening hour or the residual fatigue catching up with her after the start of a new term, but Minerva only found herself half-listening as Miss Granger calmly and efficiently elucidated several grey areas between her two roles as student and professor.

Truthfully, the witch was guiding them through the conversation that she herself had anticipated leading, however she was content to sit back and appreciate the young woman's expert command of the unusual situation and the thoughtful manner with which she had prepared her arguments.

 _This arrangement is unfolding more smoothly than you could ever have anticipated._

The ambient candlelight limned tanned features in shades of gold, and the deep garnet color of the young woman's robes seemed strangely alluring and enchanting, as if she were somehow the embodiment of Godric Gryffindor himself. Indeed, as soon as the witch had set foot in her office, Minerva had felt her body respond with appreciation and no small amount of interest.

Even twenty minutes later, she felt distracted by Miss Granger's presence - taking the opportunity to note the small and minute changes to the witch's person as she mentally compared them to the young woman who had left.

The features were sharper and the mannerisms more assured. While Minerva had already noted such differences in the time since the Welcoming Feast, cataloguing them suddenly felt important. As if she were preparing her own appraisal of sorts…

Blinking quickly and suddenly aware that her inner monologue had diverted course toward more nebulous waters, Minerva sat forward and cleared her throat, catching a brief pause in the other witch's commentary.

"In the interest of time, let us agree that mealtimes and rounds shall be addressed over a later meeting once I have conferred with Filius. For now, I simply wish for you to feel comfortable in your new role and it seems you have more than enough of an outline to proceed with Draco on your own terms," she said briskly. "Should you require an impartial third-party for any difficulties that may arise, please notify either myself or Filius."

Charming a few particulars into order, Minerva adjusted her spectacles absently. There was a brief flutter of anticipation at the reminder of the conversation that she had yet to initiate, and Kingsley's earlier visit scuttled through her mind unpleasantly.

 _Stay focused. Finish your responsibilities upon the professional plane and then see what the witch has to say for her recent… troubles._

A sour taste seemed to tinge her thoughts and Minerva magicked together the final touches upon the young woman's contract.

"Do you find this an acceptable compromise for the immediate moment, Hermione?"

Minerva froze with her hand hovering above the parchment, acutely aware that she had just utilized a student's - _no, colleague's!_ \- given name without express permission. She redirected her inward cringe into a subtle squaring of her shoulders before sighing and lifting her focus.

 _Merlin's Beard…_ she thought resignedly.

The younger witch seemed to be in the midst of redirecting her own surprise.

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, I did not intend to speak out of turn," Minerva apologized smoothly, steadfastly refusing to give away any hint of her deep embarrassment.

Fortunately, the witch simply waved a hand as if to clear the space between them.

"Not at all," the young woman replied, smiling as she inclined her head, "I welcome the transition."

Amber eyes were regarding her warmly.

"Please, Headmistress, I would appreciate it if you called me Hermione whenever our roles intersect upon the professional or otherwise personal plane."

Somehow Minerva _knew_ there was an unspoken challenge laced into the casual use of her own title, though the calm and open expression sitting across from her betrayed no indication of mischief.

Jaw working for a moment, Minerva lifted a hand and removed her spectacles with practiced ease, allowing herself to focus on the mundane task for a moment even as her words presented an offer that she was both delighted and slightly unnerved to be giving so soon.

"Very well. Seeing as we are to soon to be colleagues, it seems fitting that you should begin to address me by name as well," Glancing up, she smoothed over the light flutter of insecurity by fixing the other woman with a more stern expression. "However, it remains a privilege to be utilized only in private. I cannot have my authority being questioned by the students and I trust that you will navigate the appropriate moments bearing that in mind."

"Of course not, Minerva," Hermione replied, holding up a long hand in understanding even as her beautiful features settled into a reassuring smile. "As it stands, I was just considering how to best negotiate the complexities of these two roles and I realize that this situation bears many similarities to the subtleties of Society etiquette. Perhaps it is a familiar frame that can assist us both."

The witch tilted her head before leaning forward to place an elegant hand upon the desktop.

"I assure you that I would never purposefully place you in a position to undermine your authority in any capacity, and I suppose I will end this matter by saying that I look forward to this next chapter in our relationship. Thank you for the privilege, Minerva."

Outwardly, Minerva settled upon a small smile and nod of her head even as inwardly, the witch's wording rattled at her composure. _Chapter? Relationship?  
_  
Furthermore, she would be lying if she didn't acknowledge how pleasing it was to hear the young woman address her by name. Turning back to the contract at hand, Minerva slipped her spectacles back into place and attempted to summon some semblance of focus. She cleared her throat.

"Very well. In that case, let us turn toward your proposed changes to the curriculum. Your list of requested items seems rather… unique."

Hermione appeared to gaze at her for another long moment before turning toward her own materials with a soft smile.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: One more for luck._

* * *

The knot of tension in the pit of Hermione's stomach began to dwindle as Minerva quietly nodded to herself, still reading over the short list of abstracts that Hermione had just passed to her.

The grandfather clock in the corner kept a gentle pulse on the time as Hermione waited quietly, feeling a combination of hopeful anticipation and a niggle of anxiety. It was an echo of times gone by and she sniffed softly to herself, reminded of many a time she had waited for the witch's stamp of approval in a similar manner.

"A most intriguing combination of ideas," Minerva husked eventually, sitting back slightly and allowing her elbows to rest upon the chair as she regarded Hermione with a pensive expression. Steepled fingers came up to tap against rose-colored lips and Hermione couldn't help it as her eyes flickered toward the soft mouth.

"However, at the moment I cannot give you a precise answer for your proposal."

Hermione sat back in surprise as Minerva's eyebrow lifted knowingly.

"It is one manner to implement your ideas, Hermione… and from your thorough outline, I daresay that the changes would meet little resistance from the Board of Governors," long lashes fluttered appealingly before Minerva's lips pursed slightly. "However the curricular budget has already been negotiated for this entire fiscal year and there is simply little room to address the entirety of your changes."

A flare of indignance sprang to life and Hermione leaned forward.

"And if I would be willing to supply some of the materials myself?" she challenged, unwilling to let the point go so quickly.

Minerva tilted her head. Emerald eyes flickered slightly before the witch sat forward, a reserved expression falling into place with practiced ease and Hermione somehow knew that she was once again speaking to the Headmistress.

"No, Hermione. While I know your offer would, of course, arise in the spirit of generosity… I cannot allow you to subsidize materials on behalf of the school. It could create an unfortunate precedent for future requests and place Hogwarts in the uncomfortable position of acquiescing to the whim of its professors. Not to mention the conflict of liability should any external funds result in danger or injury to a student."

Despite her frustration and disappointment, Hermione took a breath before managing an understanding smile.

" _Not all battles need to be fought and won in a single day…"_

Talia's oft-repeated phrase sprung to mind immediately, and she could just picture her Master's amused yet slightly disapproving smile.

"Of course, Minerva," Hermione replied, already feeling somewhat chastised and a little foolish.

Naturally, she had read all about such provisions in the more detailed indices of Hogwarts' governing policies.

And naturally, the Headmistress would follow such provisions to the letter…

 _You can't always assume you'll be the exception to the rule._ She restrained the urge to make a face as she recalled her unfortunate meeting with the Minister of Magic. _Just look how that assumption turned out the last time…_

"- would be willing. Unless you might find greater success within your Society?"

"S-sorry?" Hermione replied, inhaling sharply and sitting up a bit straighter. Her long day seemed to be catching up with her. A strange expression crossed the other witch's face before Minerva's voice softened.

"I simply suggested that I might send a few inquiries to both the ICW's Educational Offices and the European Wizarding Coalition. Their development grant cycles run differently than ours, and given the ease and straightforwardness of your requests, you might try applying for the added funding through their project-based initiatives."

 _Gods, of course she would have thought of an alternative…_

"Of course… how thoughtless of me," Hermione replied, brushing a hand across her brow self-consciously. Her righteous Gryffindor-ishness seemed to be reasserting itself with a vengeance.

 _Must be the environment._

Minerva's eyebrow rose slightly even as her lips twisted into an amused smile.

 _Or the company..._

"Not at all," Minerva murmured, the musical lilt of her voice growing more pronounced even as her features softened slightly in the candlelight. "I trust you understand that my first duty is to the protection of Hogwarts' interests as well as its staff…"

Hermione nodded, only somewhat sheepishly. Even with the professional nature of their conversation, the witch across from her still made her stomach flutter as if she were still a new first-year.

"However, that is not to say that I don't find your ideas refreshing and aptly timed. Hogwarts is overdue to receive an educator such as yourself and I find myself most impressed with your most recent submission to the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs in Cairo."

"You've read my dissertation?" she asked in surprise.

"Skimmed, really," Minerva replied, folding her hands upon the desktop edge. Green eyes twinkled as her lips curled softly.

"However, I assure you it remains at my bedside table awaiting further perusal. Good reading can be difficult to come by these days."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she managed an incredulous chuckle, shifting as she recrossed her legs and attempted to contain a pleased grin.

"Well… thank you, Minerva. I must say you have me at a disadvantage," she replied eventually, striving to maintain her professional persona even as her stomach flip-flopped as the image of the witch's private bedchambers flashed through her mind.

Minerva tilted her head to one side before sobering slightly and Hermione felt the energy between them shift into something far more nebulous.

"Perhaps disadvantage is an appropriate word," Minerva husked quietly, lifting a graceful hand to remove her spectacles carefully. "As I indicated earlier… it has come to my attention that perhaps I have been too hopeful in assuming your return to us has been precipitated by a simple change in heart."

Hermione refused to give in to the swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"You have not been completely truthful about your motivations for returning to Hogwarts."

Hermione hummed lightly as her mind worked, trying to assess the direction of Minerva's thoughts.

Long lashes fluttered and she thought she heard a resigned sigh.

"It wasn't a question."

Emerald eyes connected with her own in a surge of energy and Hermione's lips thinned as she shook her head once in agreement. She thought the other witch might've been disappointed.

"No," she agreed quietly. "I have not."

Without the glasses, green eyes seemed even more piercing as they narrowed. Minerva inhaled, nodding almost as if to herself. Hermione held up a hand, wanting to forestall whatever disparaging narrative the witch may have been concocting in her mind.

"Please. Allow me to explain…" she murmured, allowing both palms to fall open as they rested upon her knees. "I… am still attempting to negotiate my way through this unexpected situation and I do hope you believe me when I say it was never my intention to be duplicitous with my words or actions."

Hermione paused and her lashes fluttered as she was finally forced to looked away from the witch's intense gaze, "I do regret not having been more forthright with you from the beginning, Minerva. Your opinion matters a great deal to me… and, I suppose… I am also embarrassed by this entire ordeal… and I apologize that you didn't receive this information from me, firsthand."

"There is nothing to be embarrassed by, Hermione," came the soft reply a moment later, almost incredulous in its tone.

Looking up, she found a clear green gaze watching her with understanding, a bit of surprise, and just a tinge of hurt. The expression seemed to confirm that Minerva had learned enough from Kingsley to comprehend the essence of her situation, and Hermione couldn't prevent the flush of embarrassment and shame from reasserting itself.

"I only wish to understand your challenges so that I may help you through them…" delicate lips opened and then closed before Minerva blinked and looked toward the windows in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty.

"That is… should you desire it."

Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't known she had been holding and her lips quirked into a smile of their own volition. Buried within the witch's response was a familiar wariness that had limned the outlines of many of their deeper conversations in the summer following the War.

It had surprised her - Minerva's capacity for consideration and her delicate unwillingness to assume Hermione's opinions or intentinons. It seemed the witch valued honesty and courage in a manner only befitting of the truest of Gryffindor's, and she infused that demand for clarity into everything from debates on Magical theory, to politics, to now - even something as simple as an offer of help.

 _We have to relearn one another all over again…_

The thought of such a journey brought along a quiet warmth and Hermione found herself gazing at the witch across from her with suddenly so much more to say than what lay ahead during what promised to be a winding conversation all on its own.

 _Everything will unfold in its own time…_

"I… thank you, Minerva," Hermione murmured, unable to give voice to the emotions suddenly rolling through her chest. "I imagine I am in need of your guidance more than you know."

Her response brought a noticeable softening to the witch's expression, and Minerva tilted her head to one side, seemingly content to wait for the story that she had been promised.

Feeling more emboldened, Hermione smiled a little more brightly and sat up a little straighter.

"Let me try to start at the beginning."

* * *

Minerva looked up at the hearth roared to life, squaring her shoulders with more energy than she felt.

A moment later, the flames flushed with emerald light and a whirling of Ministry robes suddenly revealed a figure whose visage was both unexpected and welcome given the late hour.

"Good evening, Arthur," she managed tiredly, running a self-conscious hand over her hair as she rose out of habit. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The other wizard siphoned soot from his robes absently before responding with a tight smile as he strode across the room and ascended the few steps toward her desk.

"My apologies for disturbing you so late, Minerva… however I had some news that I thought would, ah… best be delivered in person."

It took Minerva a few moments to place the unfamiliar expression hovering around Arthur's features, but a moment later she gestured toward the seat across from her while stifling a weary sigh.

"Might it have to do with our illustrious Minister of Magic?"

Arthur's brief open-mouthed expression was answer enough and she waved off his reply as they both took their seats. Sitting forward, she tried to shake off the residual discomfort that the memory elicited.

"Unfortunately, your well-meaning notice came a bit late. Kingsley stopped by this afternoon to deliver his news personally," Minerva explained, watching the play of emotions flutter across her friend's familiar features. The wizard's face fell and he rested his elbows upon his knees with an expression of regret.

"Ah… well… I wish I could have gotten here sooner," Arthur began, gesturing slightly as one hand smoothed out his robes. "I was out of the office for the majority of the day otherwise I would have seen Percy's note. It seems the Minister requisitioned your file from the Registry Department this morning. Percy seemed to feel that it was… out of character."

Minerva bristled at that, tamping down a flare of indignance at the thought of Kingsley perusing her private files.

 _Likely he rationalized it in the name of Ravenclaw research!_

"Send Percy my gratitude," Minerva replied in clipped tones, shuffling a few files on her desktop as she struggled to arrange her thoughts.

Her mind was still fresh from Mis- _Hermione's_ meeting and the winding tale she had told that had been captivating and more than a little disarming. At learning the young woman's troubles with the Ministry, Minerva's Scottish temper had flared to life with even more ferocity than she had spared for her own situation.

They both needed help, and while their individual stories were vastly different… Minerva knew that they were both running out of available options.

 _Hence the answer you gave today…_

"The Minister concluded our meeting by proposing marriage to me," Minerva found herself saying softly, still disbelieving that the words that seemed to fall from her lips were actually true.

Arthur's poleaxed expression alleviated any lingering doubts regarding the Minister's plan, and Minerva sniffed lightly, offering a small half-smile as the wizard sat forward and fumbled through a surprised response.

"I… er, _wow_. Minerva… I, uh… didn't realize… er, that is to say, I… suppose congratulations are in ord-" Arthur began, running an anxious hand through unruly hair.

"I requested a six-month forbearance to consider the proposal," Minerva continued, cutting through her friend's stammering with clipped tones.

She lifted a brow.

"After all, a witch is entitled to a proper period of courtship beneath the old laws. I reserve the right to see what my potential suitors may have to offer me."

At that, Arthur began to laugh… eyes flying wide for a moment as he caught the ghost of her wry smile. Overhead the portraits shuffled indiscriminately and she heard Phineas Nigellus snort derisively before sweeping out of his frame in a flourish of black silk, undoubtedly intent upon sharing the gossip. Albus' eyes were twinkling, but she ignored him.

 _Bloody useless, the lot of them…_

It seemed that neither Phineus, Severus, Albus, nor Adelpha had seen fit to warn her of the Minister's machinations prior to his visit. Intuitively, Minerva knew that their excuses were thin… and even though the wizard had _technically_ been stopping by on matters of personal business rather than those of the school, the portraits were still bound to her whether they liked it or not.

Abruptly, her focus returned to Arthur who was wiping his eyes with the corner of one sleeve.

"- saw it coming," he was saying, still chuckling lightly to himself. "I would've loved to have been an imp on the wall when you delivered that repartee."

Minerva allowed a wry smile for a moment before sighing and giving way to the weight that seemed to have settled itself upon her shoulders.

"Yes, well… while I am absolved of an immediate answer, Kingsley has since made it rather clear that my options are about to run dry," she replied softly, thinking of the letter than had since been delivered to her personal quarters. The implicit dig had been elegantly worded, but had still hurt nonetheless. "Doubtless, the press shall receive wind of this development by the end of the week. I imagine his assessment to be sound."

At that, Arthur abruptly sobered.

"What are you going to do?"

Blue eyes were full of sympathy and Minerva turned away to look out the darkened windows. The sliver of a new moon was just visible over the distant treetops.

"My duty to the school," she replied calmly, gesturing with a vague hand. "Whatever that should entail."

The wizard across from her gave a thoughtful nod before they both lapsed into silence.

Appreciating her friend's quiet solidarity, Minerva replayed moments from the two challenging conversations she had held that day… content to sit for a moment and sift through all the information that had fallen into her cauldron.

 _Such breadth of challenge…_ she mused, thinking of her old friend and her much younger… _Friend? Former student? Colleague?_

Minerva felt herself frown absently.

Categorizing the young woman who had sat with her for nearly two hours seemed beyond her present abilities… and _that_ bore consideration at a later time.

 _For now it seems our world is shifting faster than we can all respond in kind…_

"It seems you and Hermione are destined to brew in the same cauldron," Arthur murmured softly, rubbing his brow with a heavy hand. The comment startled her from her own thoughts and Minerva felt a surreal swooping sensation as she wondered if she had accidently spoken her internal narrative aloud.

It took a moment for her to realize that the other wizard was simply redirecting their conversation toward something less personal.

"You knew about her situation?" Minerva asked sharply, turning to look her friend in the eye.

Arthur blinked and then shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably, seeming to realize that he stumbled upon some sort of delicate topic.

"You know that she's kept regular correspondence with Ron and Harry," he replied, lips twisting with a somewhat guilty smile. "Ginny informed us of Hermione's situation as soon as she had returned from Jerusalem. Not to mention that her second meeting with the Minister was talk of the entire Registry department. Percy reckons that the Wizengamot's newest debates are a direct result of her… ah, shall we call it a _unique_ response?"

Minerva deflated slightly and rubbed her chin with a tired hand. Not for the first time that evening, she mused that life would have been much simpler in some respects had she kept abreast of Hermione's whereabouts on her own.

 _It seems you are destined to continue learning of her story secondhand…_

Arthur seemed to interpret her silence as continued disgruntlement and he leaned forward appeasingly.

"Minerva, whatever transpired between you and Hermione in the summer following the War, I'm sure it's water under the bridge now. Ginny tells me that she has several new prospects to introduce to her, and I imagine you'll both find a peaceable solution in the near future."

Minerva's brow furrowed in confusion as she looked up.

"How do you mean?"

Arthur blinked and strange look crossed his features before he shook his head and chuckled tiredly.

"Nevermind… I am sure you will sort out the matter in due course," he replied swiftly, rapping both armrests with his knuckles. A moment later he rose, shooting her a fond smile.

"I best be going, anyhow… Molly'll have my head if I push the time. I imagine she's already watching the clock like a hawk."

Minerva nodded absently, frowning lightly as she mulled over the errant assumption of some sort of falling out between herself and Hermione.

To memory, the younger woman had given no indication that they had held unfinished business… aside from her brief emotional outburst upon the night of the Welcoming Feast. The mention of not wanting to disappoint her had struck Minerva as rather poignant, though that could have simply been a part of the witch's tangled response to re-enrolling. She could only imagine how returning to Hogwarts might prove overwhelming.

Hermione had left Great Britain in search of a new beginning… and indeed, she had flourished in her life abroad. Why she should have kept up correspondence with a former professor seemed of little consequence.

Minerva rose as she saw Arthur back to the fireplace, nodding at the appropriate moments as the wizard saw himself to the Floo with the customary amount of smalltalk.

Just before departing, Arthur embraced her fervently and Minerva felt a rush of affection for her dear friend.

"See you Sunday, then?"

She blinked and smiled her affirmative, gesturing toward the emerald flames impatiently as Arthur stuck one foot in the grate. He grinned and gave a cheerful rap upon the stone mantle.

"Very good. Molly will be thrilled to hear it. You and 'Mione should come together!"

Minerva felt a flash of unidentifiable emotion as she opened her mouth to respond, but a moment later Arthur was ducking under the mantle and there was a familiar swirling of bright green light.

The logs snapped and fizzled, and a moment later, she was left alone.


End file.
